In Darkness and Hope
by everythingneedsrevision
Summary: Nancy's meeting with her new neighbor forever changed their lives, uncovering a twisted web of kidnapping, murder, and abuse. A bond was formed then, one that seemed like it could last through anything, but time and distance might have weakened it, and what was broken before might not be able to be fixed again. Very AU, and not a pleasant one, not at first.
1. Once Bitter, Once Sweet

**Title:** In Darkness and Hope

 **Rating:** T/PG-13, though I might up it due to subject matter.

 **Disclaimer:** If I wrote it, it wouldn't be published because it would be locked in endless revision.

 **Pairings:** This whole thing is centered on a friendship between Nancy and Frank. A friendship and a bit more, though there may be mentions of others as well along the way.

 **Summary:** Nancy's meeting with her new neighbor forever changed their lives, uncovering a twisted web of kidnapping, murder, and abuse. A bond was formed then, one that seemed like it could last through anything, but time and distance might have weakened it, and what was broken before might not be able to be fixed again. Very AU, and not a pleasant one, not at first.

 **Author's Note:** So, despite making progress the last few days post migraine, today I could not get any writing out of me except this battle that I did not want to lose, but... I did. People who have read Love in Subtle Clues will recognize future parts of this from pieces I did for numbers seven and nineteen. This is that universe, though in greater and more horrible detail, for all as much as I still intend to imply most of it.

However, that said... this universe does deal with kidnapping, abuse, and... child pornography. As in... one of the characters was involved in it completely against his will. So. Yes. That is why I wasn't going to write this, but... I did.

So... While I don't intend to go into detail there, things here will touch on that and it is a big part of how this universe came into being and is shaped. It will be referenced and things will hint at it.

I almost skipped all the way to the future, but I let that be the lead-in, as that is something perhaps hopeful, and also because this universe could get out of hand. Still, in the first part, it will be rough for a couple of kids. I think that's enough warning for now. I hope.

* * *

 **Once Bitter, Once Sweet**

"You sure you're up to this, Drew? You know it's not my idea, right?"

Nancy was tempted to laugh. She didn't know that it should be funny to hear her superior like this, apologizing to her for the inevitable—federal involvement—since in the first place, most wouldn't, and in the second, it wasn't that good of a sign that he deferred to her as much as he did. She'd built a formidable reputation as a detective when she was still a child, yes, but she knew that wasn't the same as the kind of experience a man in his position should have. She had been fortunate, and luck wasn't skill. She had intuition and used it, but that wasn't the same as training and degrees, all things she had now but didn't make her feel much better about the way she was treated sometimes, like she was still that hometown heroine.

What she'd done as a kid was stupid, and while she couldn't regret it, she knew it was more circumstance that lead to her breaking that case open than anything she'd done—she knew in some ways she'd been more trouble than help, and she still hated herself for that. She didn't deserve special favors or anyone treating her like she should be in charge of this department when she remained woefully unqualified.

"I don't want the feds involved," Nelson went on. "I don't, but there's not much—"

"They have resources we don't, and if what we suspect is true, this is crossing state lines and that alone makes it a federal case," Nancy reminded him. "It's fine."

"You better mean that," Nelson said. "You're the one that's stuck working with them. I hear they're sending a team and—damn, they're already here."

Nancy could see four people in Nelson's office, three men and one woman, two of whom looked bored beyond what their professionalism should allow them to show, one who seemed impatient, and one who kept out of sight, even in the middle of a police department. Interesting.

"Sorry to have kept you waiting," Nelson called, putting on his schmooze voice as he entered his office. "I was just getting our liaison here up to speed. Detective Drew here has had lead on this case since day one, but she was out on a bit of medical leave at the end. She'll be working with you on this end—that is the deal as I understood it—and that way we all get through this with reputations intact and less feathers ruffled, am I right?"

"If you say so," the woman said, not impressed by Nelson's act. She gave him a thin smile that said she knew she had the jurisdiction here and would shut him out if she wanted to, which Nancy didn't want to happen—this was _her_ case—but she knew she could play along better than Nelson could, and what she couldn't fix as a liaison, she'd find her own way to finish, regardless of what it took. "I'd like to get started as quickly as possible."

"Of course, Agent...?"

"Alexander," she answered to the implied question. She pointed to the men behind her in turn. "McKay and Conners and Hardy."

Nancy tried not to jerk when she heard the name. It wasn't that uncommon, but Joe had sworn that he was going into the business with his father like he'd always intended and—Oh, hell. It _was_ Frank.

Without meaning to, her mouth went dry at the sight of him. Years had passed, hardening that scrawny kid who'd scrunched himself up as small as possible to avoid being seen—or hurt—into a man without any sign of physical weakness. She wanted to say he wasn't as tall as that the last time she'd seen him, but she knew that wasn't true. His frame had filled out more, and she thought he might have pushed it, training and working hard to be more of the muscle mass his brother had always been easily.

His eyes had changed the most, though, shedding the haunted look for one more jaded and bitter, and she almost winced, wondering what kind of work had brought that out in him and how he was even still doing it, still carrying a badge, afterward.

"Nancy."

The way her name rolled off his tongue was different, too, having lost a bit of that strange sort of reverence it used to have, that mixture of relief and pleasure and even a little pain, since she knew she still reminded him of the bad days, despite everything. To hear it now, with only guarded, grudging acknowledgment of the fact that he knew her—that almost hurt.

"Frank," she said, wondering how much she'd just given away with that single word—how she'd missed him, how she was glad to see him but scared, too, by the way things had changed, that she wasn't sure what had happened but that she wanted to fix it—in short, everything.

His lips tried to curve toward a smile, but he quashed it down. He turned back to the woman in charge, giving her a nod she seemed to expect. Alexander looked at Nancy once before turning back to Nelson. "We'll need your files and physical evidence. Point the boys in that direction, and we'll get out of your way."

Nelson nodded, leading the other two agents out of the room. Alexander leaned against the desk like she owned it, one of those people whose air of command was undeniable—and, frankly, impressive.

"I take it you two have history," she began. Frank and Nancy exchanged a look, and she knew he was just as much at a loss to explain their relationship as she was. Friends, but not friends, some strange mix created by a bond forged in the worst of places that she'd thought would never be broken, even with years and distance.

At least... not until she'd seen him again just now.

"It's complicated," Nancy began, glancing toward Frank again. "And a bit long—"

"It won't interfere with the case, since that's what you're actually interested in knowing," Frank said, "though I'd rather McKay and Conners weren't aware of any of the details."

"It would be difficult for me to give them any, since I have no idea what they are," Alexander prompted, and Frank must have given away something in his reaction to her words that disagreed with it. She shifted her posture, nodding in acknowledgment of whatever he'd let slip. "No details. Still, if you think they won't notice—"

"I know they will," Frank said. "I'm just going to let them make the same wrong assumption everyone does. Nancy was never my girlfriend."

* * *

 _Fifteen Years Earlier_

Life was boring without any mysteries in it, Nancy thought, grumbling to herself as she left her house. The idea of spending an entire summer doing nothing while school was out and her friends Bess and George were away at a summer camp was horrible, and while she'd thought she had a perfect solution to that, her father hadn't agreed. She was only twelve, and he didn't think she should be working on any of his cases yet.

That was for when she was older.

She supposed this counted as pouting, and she wanted to prove she was older and could be trusted, but she felt like pouting, just for a little while. She was frustrated. After all she'd done over the course of the school year, she'd thought for sure her father would see that she wasn't just _playing_ at being a detective, that she was good at what she did. She knew that solving a bit of theft at the school didn't seem like much, but that wasn't all she'd done. She'd found out about the altered test scores, stopped a bullying ring, and even proved that some of the cafeteria food was being replaced by disgusting substitutes that weren't really even food. Those were just the ones specific to her school.

She had found a few off campus that were worse, but those she'd had to pass along to the police as an anonymous informant. She'd wanted to do more, but she wasn't a fool. She knew she was not someone with superpowers. She was small, untrained, and unarmed. Still, those were _her_ cases, and arrests were made because of _her._

Didn't that mean she did a good job? She'd thought so, but her father's reaction confused her. She knew he didn't always like that she was involved in mysteries—when the bullies had turned on her, he'd been really upset and scared because he thought she'd get really hurt—and if she'd gone after some of the real criminals she'd gathered information on, she knew she would have been. Still, he'd always said he supported her, but he wasn't, not if he refused to let her in on a case. She could have helped in a small way—even typing up notes would be better than facing a summer's worth of nothing because her friends were gone and she had no work to occupy her.

She would have to go see if Hannah wanted her help. Nancy could try and learn more of her dishes. That would be something to do, and maybe it would be useful as well.

Nancy had almost turned around to go back inside when she spotted a different car outside her neighbor's house. That was the fifth this week—this one was red, the others were all black or white—and it had three men in it. She knew the others had just as many if not more, and none of them really looked like the type that belonged in this neighborhood. They always seemed to come, though.

She watched as the men walked away from the door, pulling on their jackets as they did, talking and joking with each other with that look that she didn't like but couldn't fully understand. She shivered, not liking it. She saw them turn toward her and ducked back against the nearest tree, hoping they wouldn't see her.

Something was wrong with those men, and she knew it. She just hoped they hadn't paid much attention to her. She didn't want them to know she had noticed them or that she was going to find out what they were doing over there.

No way criminals were living next to her and getting away with it.

* * *

After watching the house every afternoon for almost a week, Nancy had her first big break in the case, though it wasn't one she found through her hard work or dedication. She wished that was true, since it would have helped convince her father, but no, it was an accident. She'd almost missed him in her hurry to get to her observation spot, and if she hadn't almost tripped over him, she might never have met him.

Nancy shoved the bag of cookies in her bag as she hurried along. Hannah was nice and supportive, always sending her with something for her stakeouts, and she loved that about their housekeeper. She knew she was fortunate to have her.

That was never clearer than when she came across him, huddled as he was against the tree. Though he wasn't making a sound, she thought he'd been crying, and the way he held himself, arm wrapped protectively against his stomach said maybe he was hurt. She wasn't sure if it was his arm or his stomach that was giving him pain.

He didn't seem to know she was there, though he shivered and curled up tighter like that might make whatever was troubling him go away.

"Hi."

He jumped, and she swore she'd never seen eyes like his. They were just ordinary brown, a little like chocolate, but the pain in them she could feel like her own. She pulled her bag close and managed to get her hand on the cookies. "Are you hungry?"

He stared at her, so she held out the cookie to him, and after a moment, he snatched it, eating almost the entire thing in one bite like he expected her to take it away from him. She winced. His clothes weren't torn or anything, and she thought he couldn't have come far because he wasn't dirty, so maybe he wasn't homeless, but if he wasn't, why was he so desperate? Shouldn't the people who gave him those clean, nice clothes give him food, too?

Or were they the reason he was hurting?

"Do you live next door?" Nancy asked, passing him another cookie that he ate almost as fast as the first one. "In that house?"

He looked over, almost like he'd never seen that house before, and he managed a small shrug. She gave him a third cookie, which he ate slower than the last two, but still too fast to actually enjoy it.

"I live there," Nancy said, pointing to her own house. "With my dad and our housekeeper Hannah. My mother's dead. Do you... do you have a family?"

He stared at the last part of his cookie. "I... No. Not really."

She offered him the bag of cookies. "Are you living with foster parents? I've heard that can be hard, but there's a girl I know in school that got adopted by hers they liked her so much and she loves them, so it's not always bad."

He lowered his head, stealing another cookie but not eating it.

"I'm home from school for the summer. We can talk any time you like or maybe even—"

"No. No talking. I shouldn't be out here. I didn't—" He jumped up, running away from her, and she could only stare as he rushed back into the house she'd been watching, the door slamming shut behind him. She put a hand over her own stomach, feeling sick.

Something was very wrong in that house. She just knew it.

* * *

As soon as he got back inside, he realized he was still holding the cookie in his hand. He wished he'd stayed—the girl seemed nice and the cookies were good, but he knew he couldn't. He knew he wasn't supposed to talk to anyone.

He knew what his father did to the kids he talked to, how he hurt them.

That he'd killed them.

He hit the wall before he heard anyone coming, and he could only whimper as he looked up at the man who was supposed to be his father. "Where have you been, whore? You know you're not supposed to go anywhere."

Trembling, he kept his eyes on the floor. He knew better than to look up and be defiant. "You told me... You said we were done."

"I said nothing of the sort. Don't you know better than to cause delays? Film, light, time, all of that gets wasted when you do this kind of thing, and you know what that costs me? Money. And when you cost me money, I have to make it up somehow, don't I?"

"Please," he heard himself beg. "Not that. Don't make me go in there with him again. He always hurts me, and that delays you more and—"

"Shut up. No one ever told you to think. You're good for one thing and one thing only, so get in there and get to it," his father said, shoving him toward the basement door, toward that room that wasn't a room but a mockery, a bed where he never got to sleep unless they hurt him too much.

He curled his fingers around the cookie and told himself that even if those were his last few minutes of freedom, they were worth it, if only for the food.


	2. Friends and Fears

**Author's Note:** So I went into debate mode with myself, unsure if I should include the part here that was originally posted as Love in Subtle Clues number nineteen. I tried just writing it from Frank's perspective and said that was fine, but then I decided I wanted both points of view there, so sorry. There is some repetition. I just couldn't pick one version over the other because they both had their reasons and their place.

And should there be a spoilery disclaimer thing? I don't know if I should say it, but there is something I would tell everyone about the father Frank keeps talking about. I'm just not sure if it would detract from the story or not.

This story makes me insane... I'm still not sure I should have ever written it, and it's so horrible in the first part with what's going on... *sigh*

* * *

 **Friends and Fears**

Worst fears.

Frank had them, probably had more of them than most people he knew. Part of that was how he'd been raised—if he could even call it that, since he'd lived a horrifying nightmare—and the rest of it was his job and the danger he knew was out there, for strangers and people he loved all at the same time.

Coming back to River Heights, dragging up all of that past, that was a worst fear. He didn't want anyone to know. He hated the pity, felt sick about the scorn, was tired of people saying they understood when they had no idea what any of it had been like, and being law enforcement made that all worse. He was either a liability or something to be handled like glass, easily broken.

Sometimes he _felt_ that way, but he hated when they turned that on him, when they acted like he couldn't handle any of this because of what he'd been through as a child. Like that made him weak and pathetic. Sure, he felt like he was at times. What they didn't understand was that something like that... it either broke you completely or it made you one of the strongest people there ever was. He didn't feel strong, but that was what Joe said—that Frank had managed to come through it, and surviving made him tough, tougher than any of the others because no one should have gone through what Frank did. Doctors and therapists had said he'd made considerable progress and should be proud of how far he'd come, since he could have been locked in that same old pattern of fear and doubt all his life.

He still had nightmares, didn't think those would ever stop, but he wasn't as skittish as he used to be. He hadn't been able to look at anyone, didn't think that they wouldn't hurt him because everyone he'd ever known had hurt him—with one exception, the one that had changed everything and tilted his world completely on end.

Because of her, he knew there was still good in people. He knew what life was actually supposed to be like, and she was so absolutely fearless when they were younger that he'd wanted to be like her—later like Joe—but he'd never quite reached that point. He just stopped jumping at shadows and people who made those shadows, finding a way to be normal or pass for it.

He'd shed his dependence on Nancy, and though it was almost as hard, he'd slipped away from his brother as well, needing to step beyond the shelter of family and their way of buffering him from the world. He knew they were all protective of him, but he couldn't let them treat him like something that would be broken all his life.

So the FBI. Traveling for work, never having time to adjust and get comfortable with people or places because that was too simple and too easy. He had to break those patterns and prove to himself and everyone that he could do this.

He'd thought it was working. He'd just come off one of the worst cases they'd had since he joined the bureau, one that should have pushed all his triggers and made him into that same old skittish mess but didn't. It made him angry, and he wouldn't be surprised if he got suspended when that review was done, but he didn't care. He'd stayed on his feet. He hadn't broken down and given into the past.

Only as soon as he hit River Heights, he was ready to do it.

This place. This damned place.

And seeing Nancy didn't help.

Hell... it _hurt._

* * *

 _Fifteen Years Earlier_

Nancy sat down next to the boy at the tree, giving him a smile as she did. She wasn't sure she'd see him today—he'd missed yesterday and the day before, and she was starting to get worried about him, especially since she didn't think he ate anything except what she was able to sneak him. He was small and thin and she wasn't sure if he was older than her or younger.

"Hey," she said, taking out some of Hannah's cookies and holding them out to him. He reached for one and stopped, curling back up against himself and shivering. He had lost color there, and she thought he was sick. "What's wrong?"

He shifted, closing his eyes. "I shouldn't be out here. He'll get mad again."

Nancy thought "he" was the boy's father, but there were a lot of men coming and going from that house, and she didn't like the looks of any of them. "Is he home?"

"No. Not right now. He left me with... with the one that always falls asleep when he's done."

Nancy frowned, but she didn't want to spook him and make him run like he did the other day, not when he was sick and maybe hurt. He seemed to be in a lot of pain. "I'm Nancy. You didn't tell me your name yet."

"I... I don't know... It's... whatever they want to call me."

She shook her head. That was wrong. "What does he call you?"

The boy swallowed. "I... As a name or what he really says? Because I don't want to repeat what he calls me. It's... It's mean and makes me feel... sick."

Nancy knew she had to do something about this, though she didn't know what, not yet. She could tell her dad about this house and what she'd seen, and she'd get him out of there. She swore it. "Should we pick a name for you?"

He frowned. "I... It might be Frank."

"Okay," she agreed, smiling at him again. "I can call you Frank. I'm glad I met you. Did you want to take Hannah's cookies with you? I don't need this many, and I know you liked them last time."

Frank lowered his head. "Can't. I'll get in trouble."

Nancy checked her watch. Her father wouldn't be home for hours yet. "Maybe you should come with me to my house and—"

"No!" He scrambled to his feet, and she could see a dark mark on his side through the white of his shirt. He took a step and stumbled, and she rushed over to his side. He wheezed a couple breaths, and she was worried he wouldn't get back up again. He looked up at her. "If I go with you, he'll hurt you."

"Okay," Nancy said, helping him back against the tree so he could rest again. "Just... stay here. Don't move. Don't hurt yourself. We'll figure something out, I promise."

He looked at her, dark eyes full of pain. "Nancy..."

"Yes?"

"You..." He stopped, and she wasn't sure what he said after it was what he had started to say first, but she was just glad he was talking to her and not running away again. "Can I hold your hand?"

She nodded, slipping her hand in his. She scooted closer, helping him to lean his head on her shoulder. "We're going to make it so you're safe, Frank. I promise you that."

He shuddered, tightening his grip on her hand.

* * *

"Hey." He looked up at the voice, not understanding even though the girl was holding out cookies to him. He must have been dreaming, but he'd dreamt about the cookies ever since that day she gave him some, so he wasn't surprised to do it again now. Cookies and freedom. He liked those dreams. Better than the nightmares he always had—the ones he lived during the daytime. He reached for one and stopped, pain getting to him. They'd been so rough, every time, and he could barely move. Maybe this time he'd just die and be free of them. He'd like that, he thought. "What's wrong?"

 _Everything,_ he almost answered. He didn't say it, though. If the dream knew what he was, it would be a nightmare. He'd rather she never knew. He closed his eyes. "I shouldn't be out here. He'll get mad again."

"Is he home?"

"No." He knew his father was out for the day, and if he hadn't, he wouldn't be having any sort of break. That wasn't how his father worked. That man always made sure there was someone in the room, one of the others sometimes but not always. There was no rest, no sleep, just that horrible room and the cameras. "Not right now. He left me with... with the one that always falls asleep when he's done."

She frowned, but he knew he wouldn't explain that. He preferred that one over most of the men his father worked with, since he got some peace in between them as long as he was alone with that one. And since he seemed to be one of few his father trusted enough for that, sometimes it happened. Not often. His father was too paranoid for that. He'd make them move again soon. He knew that.

"I'm Nancy. You didn't tell me your name yet."

He stared at her. His name? Did he even have one? He was so used to them changing it for every movie they made that he didn't know if he even had one. He liked hers, but he didn't think any of them called him by his name, not even when they—he shuddered and forced himself not to finish that thought. "I... I don't know... It's... whatever they want to call me."

"What does he call you?"

 _Whore. He calls me whore. Nothing else, not unless it's for a film._ That made him want to puke, but he swallowed it down. "I... As a name or what he really says? Because I don't want to repeat what he calls me. It's... It's mean and makes me feel... sick."

"Should we pick a name for you?"

He frowned, trying to remember what it had been before the last four moves. He knew that before there were as many men as there were now, before they'd left that one house where he had a bedroom as well as the video room, before his father only called him whore, he'd used a name. He barely remembered that, but he knew they didn't use that one for the movies. He didn't know why, but since they didn't, maybe he could use it now. "I... It might be Frank."

She smiled at him. "Okay. I can call you Frank. I'm glad I met you. Did you want to take Hannah's cookies with you? I don't need this many, and I know you liked them last time."

Frank didn't dare take them. If he got caught with them—he almost had been last time—then his father would know he got out and wouldn't let him be alone with the one that slept, and that guy, while still as sick as the others, didn't hurt him half as much. "Can't. I'll get in trouble."

Nancy looked at her watch. "Maybe you should come with me to my house and—"

"No!" Frank jumped up, not able to stay still with her suggesting that. She didn't understand. She didn't know what his father would do, but he did. He knew his father would be angry. He'd hurt her and then he'd kill her, like he had the other kids. Frank had thought, once, that he could have a friend, but his father had twisted all that up, and Frank swore sometimes he could still feel their blood or hear their screams, all the other kids his father had hurt...

He started to run back to the house where he knew he had to stay, to where he would be the only one his father hurt, but he fell, unable to move. He'd forgotten how bad he'd gotten hit yesterday. He hated that one. He wasn't like the sleeper. He really liked it when Frank screamed, so he did everything he could to make that happen. It wouldn't even have taken that hit, but the guy liked marking him up, too, and his father let it happen.

He wheezed, forcing the words out. "If I go with you, he'll hurt you."

"Okay," Nancy said, but she got him back over by the tree anyway, still not understanding. "Just... stay here. Don't move. Don't hurt yourself. We'll figure something out, I promise."

He looked at her, knowing she couldn't do that. His father would kill her. "Nancy..."

"Yes?"

"You..." Frank almost told her his father would kill her, but he couldn't. He didn't want her thinking she should do more. He had to get back without her stopping him. His father would make them move again, and she'd forget him, and that was okay so long as his father didn't kill her. "Can I hold your hand?"

He shouldn't have asked it, but he was scared again, knowing what his father would do if he knew about this, about her, and he knew he had to go back, but he hated that idea. He didn't want to get hurt again, didn't want anyone else to touch him, but she was different. Her hand was gentle. Holding it felt good, like he could almost dream he'd gotten away for good instead of one man's nap.

"We're going to make it so you're safe, Frank. I promise you that."

He shuddered, knowing he had to stop her from that somehow. He was tired, and he could easily fake falling asleep on her, and that might be what he had to do. It never worked when he was trying to avoid his father, but she might think she could leave him for just a moment, and if she did, he'd get up and go. He had to.

"Should have had the cookies," she whispered, yawning. "Maybe the sugar would have made me less sleepy. You know you can rest if you want. It's okay."

It wasn't, and he knew that, but he couldn't explain that to her. So he let her fall asleep. And then he left, dragging himself back to his father and the punishment he knew was coming.

* * *

When Nancy woke up by the tree, she almost swore. She didn't understand why Frank would have gone back home, but she knew he had. She knew he'd gone, but he shouldn't have. She might not have seemed like much, but her father was a lawyer. He could get Frank away from there, get paperwork in place so that he never had to see his father again, and he'd be okay.

She turned and ran back toward her house. She knew that she couldn't afford to wait. Frank was in trouble—she'd seen how badly hurt he was—and she had to do something about it. She wasn't going to leave him to that, even if he thought he could go back and it would be okay. Maybe he was just scared or maybe his father said he was sorry, but men like that weren't sorry. He wasn't going to change. He was going to hurt his son again.

Nancy wouldn't let that happen. This wasn't just about criminals getting away with it. This was about her friend. She knew she barely knew Frank, but she didn't care. She knew he didn't deserve what was happening to him, and she was getting him out of there. Now.

She burst into the kitchen and frowned. "Hannah?"

Nancy went to the counter and picked up the paper sitting there. _Gone to the store. Back soon._

She knew Hannah trusted her on her own, but she shouldn't have gone _now,_ not when Nancy needed an adult to back her up. She reached for the phone, about to call the police, but then she stopped. If Frank went back, he might tell them that he'd walked into a door or something. He'd claim it was nothing because he was scared.

She'd seen her father's statistics about domestic violence, too, and she wasn't letting Frank be one of those numbers. She dialed her father's number instead, rolling her eyes at the universe and how against her it was when it went to voicemail.

"Dad, it's Nancy. Look... I'm not trying to panic you with this, but I made a friend... A neighbor boy who... Dad, he's in bad trouble. I know it. He's got bruises, and he's so scared, but he went back to that house again, and I know he's not safe. I'm going to get him out of there if I can. I think you should call the police if you get this, but I... I don't want it just to be some suspicions I had because I think he's so scared he won't tell them the truth about what his dad is doing to him, so I need to be there to see it with my own eyes. I'm sorry. I know there should be a better way and I should find it, but I can't not help him."

She hung up and went for her tools. She figured she'd have to break in next door, and she was going to do it. She had to get to Frank.

* * *

Frank heard the footsteps upstairs and winced. His father was back. He'd thought he was safe because the sleeper was still out, but he should have known. Nothing good ever stayed for long, even if good was just one guy snoring instead of holding him down for round two.

He curled up against the wall, knowing he should take off his clothes and get back into the bed where he belonged, but he couldn't make himself do it. He felt sick at the thought of it, always did. He did what his father said because not doing it was worse, but making himself get in there without orders wasn't the same.

He didn't want to do it. He couldn't. He'd be hit and forced down onto the bed as soon as his father came downstairs, but he still didn't move. Cooperating was so wrong, and he knew it was, even if he couldn't remember a time when his father _wasn't_ doing this to him.

"Frank?"

He jerked away from the wall, shaking his head. "Nancy, you can't be here. You shouldn't. You have to go—"

"Not without you," she insisted, reaching for his hand. "I can't leave you here to be hurt. I saw the bruises. Don't tell me your father isn't doing that to you. You're not safe here, but I said I would make it so you were safe, and I will. My father's a lawyer. He can help. He can make it so you never have to see your father again. Come with me. Now."

"No," Frank said, trying to push her away. "You go. Now. If you don't, he'll kill you."

"He's probably said he'll kill you dozens of times, but if you come with me, he can't. You don't have to be afraid of him. He can't—"

"He'll _kill_ you," Frank insisted. "He _will._ I know he will because he's done it before. He cut off one of their heads before. He's so... He's... Nancy, just go. Please. I don't want him to hurt you, but he will. He does it to all the other kids before he kills them. He'll do it to you. Go. Please."

She stared at him, but then she shook her head again. "Come with me. If we both leave now, he can't hurt either of us."

She tugged on his arm, urging him toward the door, and he somehow found himself stumbling along with her, knowing it was crazy but maybe she was right about her dad and maybe he could get away and not have to feel another man's hands on him.

He should have known better, and he _did,_ but he let himself hope for a small second, and that second was too long. His father grabbed hold of him at the door, slamming him against the wall. "Where do you think you're going, whore?"

"Nowhere," Frank answered, just as Nancy threw herself at his dad.

"Get off of him. Leave him alone. You're not going to hurt him again."

His father laughed, picking Nancy up and scowling at her before he smiled. "Well, well, what have we here? A new toy to play with? How thoughtful of you, whore. I'm sure we'll have a lot of fun with this one."


	3. Noble and Foolish Acts

**Author's Note:** So... this is probably the worst of it, barring flashbacks, but... Well, this is the worst. Strong implication of... things. Hard to write, but I still wrote it, so that... makes me evil.

I kind of want to cry, and yet there is a strange part of me that wants to continue the story, and that is so messed up. I am messed up, obviously. Still... if I write the recovery, I make it better, don't I?

* * *

 **Noble and Foolish Acts**

Nancy didn't know how much longer anyone in the office could stand the tension. She knew she wasn't going to be able to last more than a couple minutes more, but she did not want to start down the road toward the inevitable, either. Frank wasn't the only one who wanted to avoid giving out details. She could practically feel Alexander searching her for them, trying to find that connection that was missing, and Nancy would be lying if she said she wasn't looking for it, too.

Frank had changed. That much had been clear just by looking at him, but she didn't know how much of him had altered. She couldn't remember the last time they'd really talked, though she knew he'd grown more distant starting back when he surprised everyone by insisting on going to college far from his family and everyone he knew, a move his therapists didn't support, though she doubted he was still doing regular sessions with anyone at this point. He'd dropped off on those to where it was only a scattered one every six months or so even before college, but she still remembered Joe's reaction to Frank's decision and how worried he'd been by the fact that the professionals didn't think it was good for Frank's mental health, either.

"I can show you the crime scenes now if you want," Nancy said, addressing her words to Alexander, since she knew that the files and physical evidence weren't the only things that the agents would need. That, and she needed to keep her foot in this, and walking them through the scene was one of few things she could still do now that her case was being taken over by the feds.

"Sounds good," Alexander agreed, though she gave Frank a look. He shrugged again, and Nancy tried to figure out exactly what that look meant. She didn't get the sense that Frank and Alexander were involved, but they did know each other well enough to use non-verbal communication like experts. She felt as though a whole hour's worth of discussion had passed in two gestures.

Then again, maybe that was just because she was still on the outside, trying to find where the boy she'd known had gone in the man she was standing next to now.

"Conners, McKay," Alexander called as the men returned with the evidence box and a stack of files. "I have a list of names. I want you two to interview them. Go back all the way to the date of the first crime. I want detailed reports."

"Sure thing, boss lady," McKay said, saluting Alexander as he took the paper from her. Conners shoved the box at Frank, letting McKay drop the files on top of it. He grinned, walking away, but if he thought he'd pissed Frank off, he'd failed. Miserably.

"I can't believe they fell for that again," Frank muttered, shaking his head. "How did they ever become agents?"

"I blame politics," Alexander said, taking the files from the top of the box. "At least this way we don't have to put up with their crap for another six hours. It's worth it."

Frank looked down at the box. "Yeah, because I _love_ the extra work and being out in the field. You know I specialized in computer forensics and—"

"And you have someone else to do the leg work this time," Alexander said, eying Nancy. "Or is working together going to be a problem for you?"

"Not for me," Nancy said, meeting Frank's eyes and waiting for him to say the same.

* * *

 _Fifteen Years Earlier_

"Well, well, what have we here?" Frank's father asked as he studied Nancy with a sick look in his eye, one Frank knew too well and had learned to fear back before he could remember. She twisted in his hold, trying to kick him, but he just laughed as he kept her from doing anything to him. "A new toy to play with? How thoughtful of you, whore. I'm sure we'll have a lot of fun with this one."

Frank gagged as he heard his father say that. He knew what it meant. He knew they'd force Nancy into film after film until they got bored again, and then when they were done, they'd kill her. He didn't want her hurt, not like that, not when he knew how horrible it was—yes, it made him want to die, but that didn't mean that she should die or that it would be better if she did. Sometimes he wished that his father would just kill him as he had the others, just so it would stop, but he knew that Nancy didn't have to feel it at all, and she shouldn't. He couldn't let his father do that to her.

"Don't," Frank said, lunging for his father. He knew he'd get hit back out of the way, but he had to try. "Let her go. She's not a part of this. She's not a toy. She's... she's no one. Let her go."

"Oh, you poor little thing," his father said, and he heard something behind him. As he tried to pry his father's hands of Nancy, the sleeper came up behind him, pulling him off and away from his father as he dragged Nancy toward the bed.

"No! Let go of me! Let her go! Don't do this. Not again. Please..."

"You are so cute when you beg," the sleeper said in his ear, and Frank shuddered. His father laughed, throwing Nancy on the bed.

"Wait," Frank said, hands scratching the man holding him. "I—I'll do whatever you want. Anything. Hurt me, but don't touch her. Please. _Please,_ don't hurt her."

His father looked at him, amused. His eyes went to the sleeper, above Frank's head. "What do you think? I'm always interested in new ways to liven it up, but then again... it would liven it up just to have his little friend watching, wouldn't it?"

Frank didn't want her to see that, to know what they made him do, but he didn't want her hurt, either. "Please. Just me. Not her."

"I'm fine with that," the sleeper said. "She's not really my type anyway."

* * *

"Nancy, what the hell were you thinking?" Carson demanded, shaking his head as he sped through the city. He'd been asking himself that over and over again, not sure how to keep himself calm. His daughter was brave, too brave for her own good, and smart, too, most of the time, but this? How could she put herself in danger like that? How could she do it? She knew better. She said she'd given most of her tips to the police anonymously. Why not this one? Why had she gone in there herself?

He knew why. She'd connected with this boy. She called him her friend. She'd risk anything and everything for her friends. She wouldn't care what might happen to herself if she could just get her friend out of it.

Carson loved his daughter, but he hated that about her. He didn't know how she could think it would be okay to go after a boy being abused by his father. She wasn't strong enough to fight against a man like that. He knew it. She knew it. She couldn't hope to stand against this guy, so why would she think she could do anything? Why didn't she just call the police?

He pulled up in front of his house, shaking his head as he saw the cars in front of the other house. They hadn't gone in, had they? What part of his report had they failed to understand? Nancy had gone in to a house with a known abuser.

Carson ran across the lawn, heading for the first car. "Where are the lights? The sirens? What are you thinking?"

The chief looked at him. "Are you absolutely sure about this, Carson? You know the law as well as I do. We need more than a vague suspicion to go in there. If we don't find anything—"

"My daughter is in there. You know Nancy. She might not get all the facts every time, but she knows what she saw. If she said she saw signs of abuse on this kid, then I believe it's happening."

"It could very well be happening, but that's a case for social services, not the police. Nancy's actually the one committing a crime here. She's the one that broke in—if she is in there—not this man she can't even name. We don't have a good reason to go in there except her trespassing, and he didn't even call to complain about that."

Carson looked at the house. He didn't have a good logical reason why he felt a chill, but he couldn't write off his worry that easily. "My daughter went in there. If she didn't find anything, she would have called me by now. She's still in there. Something is wrong. If you're not going in, _I_ am."

"Carson! Drew, get back here! You can't just waltz in! Drew!"

* * *

"Well, girlie, what did you think? Enjoy the show?"

"You are a sick, evil man." Nancy shuddered, shaking her head. She hadn't been able to stand looking at what his father and the other man were doing to him, though she'd been unable to look away as well, and she knew she had to do better.

She wished she'd been able to keep hold of something that she could use to get her hands free. She had wiggled them in the ropes as much as she could, over and over again, but she wasn't making much progress. She bit her lip, twisting again, hoping that she could manage to do something. She hadn't been able to help Frank—he'd sacrificed himself for her, and she owed him. She'd promised to help, she'd sworn he wouldn't be hurt again, but now he was suffering because of her, and she had to stop it. She had to find a way.

She heard a small whimper, and she looked over at Frank. They'd hurt him so much, and she wanted to be able to comfort him, but she couldn't even move.

"Now that you've seen the show, you're ready for your part in it, aren't you?" Frank's father asked, smirking at her in a way that made her want to puke. She knew what would happen to her—she'd seen it—and she was terrified, but if Frank—no, she didn't want Frank to have to do that again.

"No," Frank said, and she saw him struggling to get up. "You said... you wouldn't... if I did... what you wanted..."

The man laughed. "Oh, you are fun sometimes, but you know I get bored. You are only entertaining on your own for so long."

Frank dragged himself up, forcing himself toward the bedpost. "Leave her alone. You... Don't touch her."

"Ooh, now what is this, whore? You want to do that yourself, don't you?" Frank's father said, going back to the bed. He yanked Frank off of it, pulling him toward her. "You are getting older. It's about time you learned to do more than lie back and take it. Since you like her so much... She can be your first... in that sense."

"No," Frank said, hitting him as he tried to get free. "I won't. Let me go. No, let _her_ go."

His father smiled at him, pulling him the last few steps over to Nancy's side. "I don't think so. Now you can start with something simple. Just a touch, and maybe if you're good, I'll consider letting you take the next round in her place. Better impress me first."

Frank shuddered. Nancy pulled on her ropes, trying to tell herself that if it was Frank it wouldn't be that bad. She could let him do what he had to so his father wouldn't hurt him again. She tried to smile at him as his father pushed his hand toward her.

"Police!"

* * *

"You know you can't go down there."

Carson looked at the officer holding him back and down the stairs. He had to know what was down there. He needed to know _now._ His daughter said she was going into this house, and she was nowhere to be seen. She must be down there. He'd already checked the rest of the house, all the rooms in the upper level of the house. The place didn't even seem lived in, and he didn't know what that meant, but everything here felt wrong.

"I'm going. My daughter is down there."

"You are not supposed to be here," the officer insisted. "You should go back outside, now."

As much as Carson might respect the law, he was a father first. He had to find his daughter. He could deal with the consequences later as long as he still had Nancy. That was all that mattered to him. He wouldn't be okay again until he knew his daughter was safe.

"Not without my daughter," Carson said, pushing past the officer as he heard a gunshot followed by a scream he knew came from Nancy. He ran forward, unable to hold still when he knew his daughter was in trouble. If that bullet had hit her, he didn't know what he'd do. "Nancy!"

At first, he didn't see her. He had to get past another wall of blue, and then when he did, he thought for sure he would see his daughter bleeding out, but the blood belonged to a man he'd never seen before. His eyes searched the room, trying to find his little girl.

There. She was back in the corner, huddled up against the wall.

"All right," the chief said, moving past his men, leaving two of them to handle the man that had been shot and the one Carson assumed was his friend since he was naked, too. That had better not mean what he thought it meant, though Nancy seemed to have her clothes still. "Son, we need to talk to you, to check you out—"

"No! Stay away from me! Don't touch me!" That voice had to belong to Nancy's friend, the boy who had brought her down into this whole mess. "Please..."

"Chief," Nancy said, turning back to look at him. "You're scaring him. Please don't come any closer."

"We need to talk to him and see if he's hurt," the chief insisted. "You're going to have to let us see him. It'll be okay. We're the police, remember? The good guys. We're here to help."

"No," the boy repeated, sounding panicked as well as pained. "Stay away."

"Nancy," Carson said, and the chief looked at him. Carson gave him a nod, knowing that if he could reach his daughter, he could help with the boy as well. He crossed the room to her side, kneeling next to her despite the trembling of the boy she was shielding. "Nancy, are you hurt?"

"No, Dad, I'm fine," she said, looking up at him. "They didn't hurt me. Just Frank."

"Then we should have the paramedics look at him—"

"No! Not them. They're just like him. They're..."

Nancy took her friend's hand. "They're here to help, just like the police. They're not bad people. The paramedics can help with your side and that bruise and—"

"They don't help," the boy said, shaking his head. "They say they will, but they're just part of his films. The police. The firemen. The paramedics... They're all just part of his films, and they... They'll do what he did. It's just another movie..."

"Movie?" Carson asked, frowning. He did not want that to mean what he thought it might.

Nancy bit her lip, pointing to the bed. She met her father's eyes with tears in her own. "They... they filmed it. What they did to him."

Carson swore. It would have been bad enough if that bastard was just beating his son, but this... He wanted to go over there, get one of those guns, and shoot both of them. He forced himself to be calm. "Okay. We're going to... We need to get you to the hospital. You need a doctor—"

"No!" The boy backed into the wall, shivering. "Please... Please don't make me do that again. I don't... I don't ever want to do that again..."

Carson swallowed. How the hell were they going to help this kid if everything had been twisted into some sick perverted film? He didn't trust the police, paramedics, doctors... Was there _anyone_ he could trust?

Nancy leaned forward, wrapping her arms around her friend. "It's okay, Frank. You're safe now. I promise. No one else is going to hurt you."

The boy held onto her, shaking as he wept silently against her.


	4. Legal Aid

**Author's Note:** So... I ended up rewriting Carson's scene over and over again until it came out to these two, and then I thought about trying to add in a scene with Nancy and Frank, but none of my ideas fit. So I left it where I did.

For anyone wondering about the other characters coming into the story... Yes, they are slated to make appearances. There's just some more back story parts to go before that happens, but ironically, it was one of the first scenes I wrote for this story.

* * *

 **Legal Aid**

"How much has this place changed since you were last here, Hardy?"

Frank looked over at Alexander. She probably knew he couldn't answer that. He hadn't been looking at anything, not truly, not since the car started. He had been lost in the past, the way he always got when he was near Nancy—though she wasn't the cause of all the memories or even the trigger for half of them. He'd lived twelve years of his life before meeting her, and he'd lived plenty more after her, and when it came down to it, she was not as big a part of his life as she sometimes seemed.

Joe had quickly pushed her out of first position, whether his brother had meant to or not. Frank didn't know that he minded—Joe's overprotective nature had been reassuring back then—and things with Nancy were... complicated. They always had been. It was easier to be around Joe and build up the illusion that they were a normal family, that they had always been the sort of brothers that they were and not strangers for the first part of their lives.

That was the life he wished he'd lived, after all. The one where he didn't know the things that haunted him at night, where he didn't relive the nightmares during the day, where he'd grown up with the love a child was supposed to have and not the perversion one man had twisted everything in his life into, almost destroying him.

Frank shrugged, forcing himself to answer the question. "I didn't spend that much time in River Heights. I'm sure plenty of it has changed. Places always do."

"I've seen it change a lot," Nancy mused, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel. "Then again, I grew up here and never quite cut the apron strings, if you know what I mean. I was born here, and while I stayed on campus for college, that was as close to moving away as it got."

"Not like you, huh, Hardy?" Alexander asked, eyes on him as she teased. "I don't think you've kept a lease for more than six months since we started working together."

"Not everyone likes to settle," Frank said. He wasn't sure if he sounded defensive or not—he felt it, so it probably showed. He didn't care what other people thought of his habits. He didn't want to stay in one place anymore. He'd done it when he was with his family, but that was different. That was what families did. What he did now as a single adult was up to him, and moving fit better with who he was and the privacy he liked to keep. Spending too much time around people had them thinking they knew him—Alexander did; he knew that—and they didn't, because he didn't want them to know and wouldn't let that happen. Ever. His past was as buried as the children he'd seen murdered, the ones he couldn't save.

He did not want to think about the one he had saved—if he could call it that—sitting behind the wheel of the car. Wouldn't.

"I work all over the country, so why bother living in one place?" Frank asked, giving it a dismissive tone. None of this was important and did not need analysis from another shrink. "That doesn't make sense. I may as well be close to the work I'm doing."

Alexander eyed the woman across from her. "You agree with that, Drew? The profiler we used to work with called it running. Then he spent a week not calling anything anything at all because his jaw got broken."

Nancy laughed. "Starting fights, Frank? That sounds like something your brother would do."

Frank snorted. "Who says he didn't?"

* * *

 _Fifteen Years Earlier_

"Are you family?"

Carson shook his head. He didn't know how many times he would have to answer that, or how many times he'd already done it, but he had almost stopped caring. He didn't want to have to keep explaining _or_ arguing, since he was tired, weary in body and spirit. Hours had passed since he'd stepped into the basement and found his daughter, hours of the worst negotiation he'd ever been a part of, one that seemed to start over every time he turned around. Each new doctor or nurse, every cop who hadn't been in that basement, everyone the boy came in contact with, actually, made it necessary again, and he would be annoyed other circumstances, but how could he begrudge that kid _anything_ after what he'd been through? After what he'd done for Carson's daughter?

He could, he supposed, argue that Nancy wouldn't even be in that situation if not for Frank, and when he thought about it, he wanted to be angry. He was. He was furious—with Frank for pulling Nancy into it, with Nancy for going into that house despite knowing better—with the man who had hurt his son like that—and with the world for allowing something like that to even be _possible._

He didn't want to blame Frank—the boy certainly hadn't _asked_ for any of this to happen to him, and just looking at him was like getting kicked in the gut himself. Carson couldn't blame Frank. None of this was his fault, and in his own way, the kid was a hero, doing what he had to stop Nancy from becoming a victim as well. When Carson thought about that, he felt guilty for being angry about the whole thing—who was he to complain about any of it when that boy was barely holding himself together when the doctors came near him?

Carson never wanted to hear that noise the kid made again. It wanted to tear his heart apart, that small whimper of fear and pain. Frank tried not to make any noise at all, and when he did panic, he seemed to think they'd punish him for screaming or crying. Carson knew the kid had probably had that happen in the past, and he didn't want to add to that.

He couldn't stop the war within himself, though. He was a father. He couldn't imagine what it would be like if it was Nancy who was going through this. It was hard enough knowing how close she'd been. It _terrified_ him to know how close Nancy had come to being harmed. He'd only been at work for only an hour that afternoon when he got her message, and if he'd taken any longer, been any later, if he hadn't forced his way into that house, then it wouldn't have been his daughter comforting her friend. She'd have a hospital bed and a nightmare of her own.

That was something Carson didn't know how to cope with, so he pushed it aside and tried to focus on what needed to be done here and now and for someone's kid that was not his, even if his daughter was still sitting next to him.

"No," Carson said, wondering just when his daughter would start disagreeing with him on that one—she'd clearly adopted Frank. Carson wasn't sure how that would work in the long term, but he knew he wasn't going to be able to persuade Nancy from Frank's side—and he damned sure wasn't going to force that. He knew how disastrous that would be. "We're not family."

"Then I'm going to have to ask you to wait out here. Hospital policy—"

"I was under the impression that they were done with the tests and scans they wanted to do," Carson said, facing the nurse with a frown. He did not want to relive the memories of being even half-present for when the evidence was collected from the boy's body. "They didn't find the internal bleeding they were worried about, but they wanted to monitor him—and he's got nowhere to go—so they were keeping him overnight. Why are you trying to get us out of the room?"

"Visiting hours are over," she said. "And as you are not family, I am not authorized to discuss any of the boy's treatment with you. I have to ask you to leave now."

Not for the first time that night, Carson bit back a few thousand curses and tried to remind himself that the system did work, even if it was flawed. Sure, the social worker who'd tried to take Frank's case was overworked and borderline inept, and he'd scared the hell out of the kid earlier, but someone should still be here, looking out for the boy's interests.

"If you want to do anything to that boy without sedating him, you need my daughter there. She's the only thing keeping him calm," Carson told the nurse. She had to know this. Didn't any of these people talk to each other? Where was the doctor who had said the best prescription for Frank was sitting right next to him? Why had that one gone and left someone who clearly didn't understand in charge? "I think you need to consider the boy's mental and emotional well-being, and that means she should stay. He needs her to help him remember that the whole world isn't going to abuse him. She's the only one he trusts. If you make her leave, you'll set off a panic attack at minimum, and if he does panic and tries to run again, he might injure himself again."

The nurse folded her arms over her chest. This one wanted to fight. Carson could tell she did. He didn't understand that. Shouldn't the patients needs come before the rules? Then again, he was a lawyer. He knew the law didn't always help the people it was meant to protect.

Like this kid. If Nancy hadn't broken into that house, Frank would probably be in the middle of another one of his father's "movies" right now, and that was something Carson didn't want to think about. He didn't know how he could ever go back again, knowing what had been going on almost under his roof—next door, but close enough—and to think of this thing being anything more than one man's sickness, that he'd not only tormented his son but let others do the same and _profited_ from it? That was something that would haunt Carson for the rest of his days.

People like that had to be stopped. This boy should not be terrified of everyone that moved, thinking they, too, wanted to hurt him as his father and so many others had apparently done.

"Just let her stay with him," Carson said, not willing to budge on this. "She's seen him through everything else, things I'd rather she had no knowledge of, but that boy would have run for the door by now if she wasn't holding his hand."

"I'm sorry," the nurse began, though Carson didn't hear that in her voice at all. "This is not a rule that can be bent, nor is it appropriate for your daughter to stay where she is during this kind of—"

"Does your policy really mean that much to you that you would risk his emotional and mental well-being for it? Isn't that part of your job to see to as well as his physical wounds?" Carson asked. Seeing her lips thin like she was still going to argue, he decided to be blunt and see if this woman had any kind of heart at all. "Regardless of how inappropriate it is, my daughter has already seen the worst of it. She saw what happened to him, and she sat there, holding his hand while they did a rape kit on him. _That_ is what that boy went through earlier today. That is the reason you need to think about more than regulations and his physical needs. You will do him more harm than good by trying to make her leave. Believe me, as her father, if there was a good way to do this without her being here, I'd tell you. I'd jump at it, because where she was today and what could have happened to her, what she's seen—I didn't want any of that for her, not even what has gone on at this hospital. It's also because I'm a father that I know there's no other better way. Frank needs her, and she's staying. She's my daughter, so I am staying. That is how it has to be."

"I can call security," the nurse said, and Carson glared at her, not sure why she'd picked this for her career if she cared so little about the people she was supposed to be helping.

"Mr. Drew!"

He turned, looking back at his assistant with relief. He hoped this had gone the way he'd wanted when he'd called the office earlier. He didn't know if they'd be able to get an emergency ruling or not, but something had to be done, and if there was any mercy or justice in this world, then he would have what he needed right now.

"Here it is," she said, passing a folder to him. He opened it up and saw the paperwork he'd been hoping for right on top. "It's only temporary, and he gave it the shortest time he could since he said it needed a proper evaluation later—it was just the extreme circumstances that got him to do it today at all and we're so lucky he did."

Carson nodded. "I know. If I'd had time to prepare any kind of case—"

The other lawyer peeked into Frank's room. "You haven't left her side, and she hasn't left his. That's what's important."

He nodded, turning back to the nurse. He was about to ruin her day, but he was damn glad that he could. "Here. You can have this copy for your records. I've got others."

"What is this?"

"I've been granted temporary guardianship of Frank," Carson told her with a thin smile. "That makes me legally responsible for him and his medical decisions as well as the only thing close family he's got besides my daughter, too. She stays with him. And if you don't like that, perhaps you'd like to give me the name of your supervisor."

* * *

 _Let that be a lesson to you, Drew. Don't piss off the nurses,_ Carson thought as he shifted his daughter in his lap, well aware that she was too old for this by now, but the on-duty nurse, while having relented into allowing him and Nancy to stay, was not at all willing to let them have any kind of comfort while they did. The usual bed that would have been used for family was not available to the likes of them, not so long as she was working.

Carson would deal with it later. Nancy'd had to come out and get him, telling him his little spat with the nurse had scared Frank, and the last thing that kid needed was another man with legal authority over him scaring the hell out of him. Carson would fight that battle later, when it wouldn't have further unexpected casualties.

He heard a knock and looked over at the door. Tired as he was, he couldn't stop his mouth from reacting when normally he would have more restraint. "No. It is too damn early for this."

The chief of police gave him an apologetic smile. "I can understand you thinking that, but you know as well as I do that part of it is already too late."

Carson's eyes went to the boy on the bed, though he tried not to think about it that way. "I can grant you that, but at the same time, he's tired. He's had nightmares all night, and while Nancy's been able to calm him and get him back to sleep, it hasn't been easy for anyone. I don't think you need to wake him up and make him relive all that now."

"If it was just a matter of processing the two men in custody, it might be different," another man said, inviting himself into the room. This one wore a suit, one far less rumpled than Carson's, and obviously didn't have a daughter to pick out ties for him. "We need to discuss some of the others who were involved in these... films. There's a small chance they haven't heard about the arrests yet, and we'd like to try and get them before they can leave town."

"I understand that, but Frank doesn't have a social worker to speak of—"

"Yes, but we hear you're the one we need to talk to," a second man in another bad suit said. "You were granted emergency custody of the child, weren't you?"

"I was, given the circumstances and the need for someone to be able to make medical decisions in case he did have to have surgery," Carson agreed slowly. "Don't do this now. You'll only scare him if he wakes up to all of you here—apparently, that has happened before, with men who were definitely not law enforcement but did put cuffs on him. I'm sure you can figure out that implication for yourselves."

"Carson," the chief interrupted, trying to play the old friend card—he could hear it in his voice. "These men are with the FBI."

Wincing, Carson put a hand to his head. He should have known it would end up a federal case— _had_ to know it would, given all that was involved and the two suits, but he did not want to deal with it now. "I understand that, but I meant what I said. Frank isn't in any state to answer your questions. For one thing, he's asleep, and I think he should be allowed to stay that way. For another, he still needs time to adjust to the idea that the hospital isn't some trick of his father's and part of one of those sick films. If you wake him now, all you'll do is scare him. You'll get nothing, and those men you want to catch will be lost because you pushed too hard."

"None of us want the boy harmed," the first of the two suits said. "However, we are looking at the tip of the iceberg here. This is not about one man making amateur films in his basement. This is organized, funded pornography that has been distributed on a mass scale, and that boy is our best hope at shutting down a much larger ring as well as locating the bodies of several missing children."

Carson tensed, almost dropping his daughter out of his lap. "Bodies?"

"The boy said his father had killed other children," the chief reminded him.

"In the middle of panicking when the doctors were trying to examine him," Carson said. "You... went looking for those kids specifically? I thought you said you wanted to find the men behind this."

"We do, but just the initial review of the videos we took as evidence gave us at least seven other children besides the one right there," the second suit said with a wince. "He was the only child in the house besides your daughter, making him the only one who knows where they other kids might be. If he's right and they were killed..."

Carson did not want to think about that. "Still—"

"There is a chance they're still alive," the first suit disagreed. "We don't know. The answers are going to have to come from the boy."

And in front of Nancy, Carson thought, almost swearing. He shook his head. "You know I do not want any other children to suffer. I am not doing this to keep you from your answers. I'm just trying to make sure that Frank isn't pay the price for them."

"We can't change what he knows," the agent reminded Carson quietly. "We can only hope that there's something we can do with that knowledge, something that might set some of this right."

Carson snorted. "You know what they did to him. There's nothing in the world that sets that right."


	5. Omissions and Admissions

**Author's Note:** I had this perfect chapter playing out in my head, and I got the first two scenes done before work. Then I went to work, came home, and found the second half of the chapter, my ideas of what to do with it... just gone. I stared at a blank page, pouted, and finally wrote something that is not what I was going to do (I don't think, anyway, but I don't remember) and so now there is this.

I think I did manage to cover the main relative points of the meeting and the custody and everything, so I might be jumping time a bit in the next chapter, just warning. I'll see how it goes.

* * *

 **Omissions and Admissions**

Nancy parked the car in front of the house, willing herself not to look back at Frank. She knew she kept seeing a different house when she looked at this one, and he hadn't even been here when that started. This was the first scene, the one that seemed to have set off all the others, and she had to admit now that she found that an unpleasant coincidence. She didn't know that she wanted to think it was more than that, but with Frank here, now, she had to worry that something more could have been going on—only she knew most of the men involved in that particular nightmare were still behind bars.

They had to be. They'd gotten maximum sentences when the trials were done, the judge having thrown the book at them for what they'd done to children. She knew her strongest memory of those times was her father not wanting her there, but she hadn't forgotten the sound of her own voice, turning to whisper to Frank.

 _"You see? He just got twenty-five years in prison. He won't be able to hurt you again. You're safe now. Really safe."_

She knew she'd been overly optimistic, especially given the life choices they'd both made—her with the police, him with the FBI, but at the time, he'd just been scared that the men who'd tormented him would be released, that they'd get free and come for him to start it all over again. They hadn't, and Frank had stayed safe—well, relatively, given Joe's penchant for getting in trouble and leading his brother right in with him despite Frank's paranoia and overcautious nature.

"This is it," Nancy said, unbuckling her seatbelt and opening her door. She stepped out, looking up at the house. Give this one a different coat of paint and it was the one from a few too many nightmares—not all of them Frank's. She had her fair share, and so did her father.

Another door shut and Alexander came across to the front of the car. "I hate when they look so innocuous. Like nothing bad could ever happen in them. Just that white picket dream."

Frank snorted, slamming his door shut. "Like that exists anywhere."

"Cynic," Alexander teased with a smile, getting Frank to roll his eyes. Nancy wanted to laugh, but at the same time, it hurt. Frank actually believed that there was no good place in the world, even after years with a loving family that would do anything for him, and she didn't know that she wanted to know what had embittered him so much. Surely none of the Hardys had caused it. They were good people. She could have loved that family like her own.

"So... Did you want me to go through the case or just form your own opinions and answer what questions you have as you go along?"

Alexander glanced toward Frank. "Thoughts?"

"Call came in at four fifty-eight pm," Frank said, eyes on the house. "Officers responded to a neighbor reporting a possible case of domestic violence. Shouting, broken glass, death threats, all of them were reportedly heard by a neighbor. When the patrol car arrived at the scene, the front door was open. The neighborhood was quiet."

"I see you don't need the run down," Alexander mused. She looked over at Nancy. "Did he always do that memorizing thing? I've been meaning to ask his brother, but they did try and ban him from the federal building after that thing with the profiler."

Nancy could have smiled at that last comment, but she didn't know how to respond to the rest of it. "Always? I'm not sure. Frank has a way of filing things away and managing to pull them up later when it turns out they're relevant again, and he also does tend to obsess over small details and look for the solution in small pieces, but he doesn't have a photographic memory, at least not that I'm aware of."

Frank shook his head as he walked up to the house. "Just because Joe never seems to think about the bigger picture and you rely so heavily on intuition does not make my tendency to find facts that odd. I found the pieces that your methods tended to overlook, that's all."

"Sounds like you were a good team."

Frank stopped, eying his boss warily. "Just because I don't play well with McKay and Conners does not mean I'm incapable of it. They're idiots who don't belong on a team. They couldn't do this job without one, though, so we're stuck with them. Whereas Joe, for all his hotheadedness, can work on his own, and Nancy solved plenty of cases solo as well. I respect people who know what they're doing. I don't have any for the ones that won't even bother to learn."

Alexander grinned. "High praise from you, Hardy, since you're still willing to work with me."

Frank shrugged. "At least for now."

* * *

 _Fifteen Years Earlier_

"I'm Agent Henry Knox of the FBI," the man in the suit said, standing at the foot of Frank's bed and looking at him. Frank tried not to squirm. He knew he had to sit still during inspections. That was the rule, and he always hurt worse if he didn't obey the rules. He hurt if he did, but he didn't want to make things worse for him than they always were. He didn't want to go back to it, but if he had to, he'd spare himself some of the pain, if he could. "We need you to tell us a few things about the men you were with when you were found by Miss Drew here."

Nancy gave him an encouraging smile, squeezing his hand. Frank wanted to puke, but she was here, so maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought it was. "What things?"

"This man," Knox said, holding out a picture. "Do you know who he is?"

Frank gagged, not looking at the picture for more than a second. "Yes. He's... I call him the sleeper. He always... he fell asleep after he was done... It was almost nice..."

Knox looked at the other man in the suit, shaking his head. "If you don't know his name, kid, I'm not sure how much you'll be able to help us. We want to find and arrest all of his friends, all of the ones that hurt you, but we're going to need more than a nickname you gave him to keep him straight from the others."

Frank shivered. They were going to punish him if he didn't come up with the names, weren't they? He didn't want to be punished. He didn't want to be hurt. "I... No. I know his name. I think... There's..."

"What?" Knox asked. "What do you know?"

"Quit pushing," Nancy's father said, frowning. "I know you need information, but you're scaring him, and you can't do that. He's not the one at fault here. Frank, listen to me, it's okay if you don't know what they're asking you. You don't have to talk about anything you're not ready to talk about. That's not what this is. You can answer, but don't feel that you have to. You won't be hurt if you can't or you don't know. You don't have to know."

Frank nodded, and Nancy touched his arm, getting him to look at her. "They used other names, didn't they? Like how you said your father had a different name for you in each movie."

"I... Yes." Frank wanted to be sick now; he really did. "I... I should only know those names, but those are the ones that are... a blur. I... Can't forget the ones he used at the introductions."

"The what?" Nancy's father asked, getting a glare from the other men in suits.

Frank choked. He knew he was going to start crying, and he didn't want to, but he didn't think he could stop himself. "He... When I met them... first time... they... they got to inspect me... see if they liked what they saw... if they were going to... and... and if they were, then... they... they had to do something for his... insurance... he... The first time he made them... they gave their real name, say it right to the camera, and then... only then... he let them do things to me... but he filmed it all... He called the introductions his insurance... his way of... of knowing they couldn't talk about him."

Nancy leaned over and kissed his cheek. Frank blinked, staring at her. She gave him a small smile. "As terrible as that is, Frank, that means that there's proof of all of them being involved. The police and the FBI, they can go arrest them. They can lock them up for a long time."

"But... I was supposed to do what they wanted... I had to... I didn't..."

Nancy's father put his hand over hers on Frank's. "That doesn't make them any less guilty. You didn't choose this. It doesn't matter what his orders were—you were coerced into doing it. You didn't do anything wrong."

Frank turned away, burying his face in the pillows. He didn't want to look at anyone right now. He couldn't. He just wanted it all to go away.

"I think he's given you more than enough for today," Nancy's father said. "You should leave. Now."

"Mr. Drew—"

"I mean it. I'll file a legal motion if I need to," Nancy's father insisted. "Leave him alone. Find those tapes and deal with them, but let Frank have some time before you ask more of him. He's already handed you your case and you know it."

"Fine. We'll go."

Frank didn't dare look up as they left. He stayed curled up where he was, trying to decide if he really could trust any of this. Nancy's father seemed like... like he could be a good man, but if he wasn't... Frank couldn't think about that. He didn't want to. He just wanted it all to go away.

* * *

"Mr. Drew? I'd like to talk to you for a minute, if I could," Knox said, and Carson frowned. He didn't much like the sound of that or the idea that it might be a ploy to get Frank alone with the other suit, but when both agents moved toward the door, he relented, leaving Nancy alone with her friend. Frank had said more than Carson expected, but at the same time, he had a bad feeling that was because the boy was afraid he'd be harmed if he didn't.

"I'm not going to change my mind about letting you question him," Carson warned. "The boy needs time. He is being helpful, more so than I would have thought he was capable of, but he is not going to be able to tell you everything right away. That is a lot of trauma you're asking him to relive, and you can't just keep piling more on him until you have every answer you think you need."

"Relax," Knox said, almost trying for a smile and then stopping before he gave it. "That's actually not why I wanted to talk to you. We were actually thinking you might agree to something that could... take a lot of the pressure off of the boy."

Carson studied them, not sure what they could mean by that. "I don't understand. He's your main witness, and while I know my daughter can testify to a bit of what went on there, you still need Frank for most of your case."

"We know. That's not going to change, but we think we can give your daughter and the boy a bit of protection if... if we slant the media toward belief that you were the one to uncover this ring, not her."

Carson leaned back against the wall. "So... you want me to lie to the press?"

"Not lie so much as omit and imply," Knox corrected. "I think as a lawyer, you'd be good at it. As a father, it's what you would want—the last thing you need is the world knowing your twelve year old was the one to find a pornography ring. They'll assume things about her, about her friend, and they could target her. The boy is already a target, and that won't change, but if we can keep the press focused on you, then they won't be hounding your daughter and making her front page news."

Carson had to admit he'd been worried about that. "What are you wanting besides me taking center stage on this thing?"

"Nothing," Knox promised. His partner elbowed him. "Well, we'd like your further cooperation and assistance with getting us as much information as we can get from the boy, but in this case, I think we all know we want to keep the children out of the public eye as much as possible."

Carson grimaced. "I'm not sure that can be avoided. Hospital staff, police officers, paramedics... There's a long list of people who know about this already, and it's only going to get longer as the investigation goes on."

"We're aware of that, but as it stands, we could still get out ahead of this thing and take control of it. The police call was put in as domestic violence, and the pornography angle isn't widespread knowledge, not yet. We still want to round up as many of these men as we can, and we also don't want to expose a vulnerable witness to the press and the people behind this ring. Ideally, we'd place him in witness protection—"

"Are you _kidding?"_ Carson demanded. "That boy is too traumatized to be shuffled off to a foster home halfway across the country. He will need a permanent placement, and I don't know that I'd be granted that or that I am going to push for it, but I'm not an idiot, and I was hoping you weren't, either. Frank talked to you because Nancy was there. He doesn't talk to anyone if she leaves, not even me. Taking him away from her at this point would cost you your witness."

Knox sighed. "I'm aware of that. That's why I would like to make it seem like you uncovered the ring and that your guardianship of the boy is due to an unrelated case. We need to do what we can to keep the general public from knowing this boy was involved. Those videos he mentioned—that's enough to put a lot of men behind bars, and we haven't even asked about the other children yet. Frank is in danger. Your daughter will be as well."

Carson nodded. He was aware of that. "I'm willing to take the brunt of it, but I'm not sure how well this idea of yours will work. Once the word 'child' gets attached to that pornography ring I've uncovered, they'll look at my daughter and her friend no matter what."

"Yes, they will, but we can prepare for that."

"Fine. We'll do whatever needs to be done to keep them safe," Carson agreed. "Now if you will excuse me, I have to make a few other arrangements."

"Arrangements?"

"The doctors only kept him here for observation," Carson said. "He doesn't need to be in the hospital because of his wounds. He needs a place to sleep and clothes. I'd like to have those things settled and get him... well, home, before this press conference you want to have."

Knox nodded. "Good idea. We'll have them set it up for an hour from now. That should be enough time for you to do what you need to do and still let us get out ahead of this thing."

Carson held back most of his reaction to that. "You don't have any children, do you, Agent Knox?"

"No. Why do you ask?"

"Never mind."

* * *

"And this will be your room for now," Nancy said, opening the door to the guest room for Frank. She gave him a warm smile, hoping he would like it here. She wanted him to stay forever, and she didn't see why he couldn't—his only family was a creep who was going away for a very long time. Frank was scared of everyone and everything but her, and if he stayed here, he'd know he was safe because she was here. It made perfect sense to her.

Frank bit his lip, looking into the room. Hannah had put new sheets on the bed—Nancy could tell because the bedspread was blue today instead of the usual yellow one, and she'd changed the curtains to match, too.

"My room is right next door," she went on, hoping that would help. "Daddy's room is on the other end of the hall, and Hannah has the one on the other side of this one. You'll love Hannah. She is the world's best cook. She made those cookies you liked so much."

Frank's eyes were on the bed, and Nancy went over to him, taking his hand. "I know you're scared, but my dad is a good man. He's not going to hurt you like they did. I promise. And Hannah... Hannah wouldn't hurt anyone."

He went to the bookshelf, running a finger along the spines of the books there. "I... I haven't had a room, not a real one... in so long I almost forgot... It was different when I had a room. I had a place away from him and away from the others... It didn't happen in my room. I... I could dream that was some other place... some other kid... Then... he moved us. New house. No room. Just one like that basement. That's all it was after that, no matter what house it was..."

"This is your room," she insisted. "And nothing bad will happen in it. You are safe here."

Frank picked up a book and frowned at it. "I think I read this once... Back when there was a room... He... he did want me to read... I had to, sometimes..."

Nancy didn't think his father had wanted him to read for any good reason. She looked at the book and smiled. "The second one is better than that one, but you can read them all if you want. Only if you want. No one is going to force you to do what you don't want. Not here. That's also a promise."

Frank took the book with him and went to the chair, sitting down in it. "What if... What if I don't remember the words? If I don't know... if I don't really know how to read? He said I was only good for one thing and that wasn't reading."

Nancy went over to him. "I don't care _what_ he said. He was wrong. You're good, and I bet you're smart, too. I'll help you with the words you don't know, but I don't think there will be as many as you think there will be."

Frank shuddered, and she could see he was trying not to cry again. She really hated his father. He'd hurt him so much, and it was so wrong all he'd done. Every part of it.

"It's okay, Frank," she said, taking his hand again. "We're going to make it okay. He's done hurting you, and while we can't get back all he took from you, you can have a lot of what he wouldn't let you have before—your own room and books and friends and cake and every wonderful thing Hannah can make and you'll be safe. You _are_ safe."

He trembled, and she held onto him as he shook, knowing that she'd have to say that a lot before he really believed it.

* * *

"Dad?"

Carson hung up his coat before turning to face his daughter. He hadn't meant to get back this late, but the press conference had run long, and then he'd stopped in at the office to do a few other things he needed to do, and next thing he knew, it was well after sunset. He should have been home hours ago, and he should have made sure she was in bed hours ago as well.

"I know I missed dinner," he told her. "Hannah might not have any for me to reheat, but I will survive if I don't have the leftovers."

Nancy shook her head. "There isn't any leftovers. Frank ate a bunch, but then he got sick and threw it up, and when he was feeling better, Hannah let him try and eat again. The second time it stayed down, so there isn't any left."

Carson nodded. That was fine. He'd actually expected to go without, so he'd gotten takeout on the way home and wasn't planning on telling his housekeeper, knowing how insulted she'd be if she knew. "What made him sick? Just eating too much?"

"He said that was what it was, but he was fine until Hannah said something about chores, and... Dad, I don't think he was given a 'chore' that wasn't a part of those movies his father made."

Carson winced. He didn't know what they'd do about that. "I'll talk to Hannah. I don't think Frank needs to do any chores while he's here. I don't want him worrying about the ones you help out with, but at the same time—he's here to heal, not to work. He doesn't have to do anything to stay here. I want that to be clear to him. Is he awake right now?"

Nancy shook her head. "I think he's scared to sleep, so he's reading. Or trying to."

Carson rubbed his head. "Frank doesn't know how to read, does he?"

"Oh, he knows a bit. Little words, more like what a kindergartener would know. He's so much older than that, and smarter, too, even when he's scared—he doesn't talk like a little kid, but... his father didn't let him go to school—he's never been, not once—and he only was allowed to read for those movies... It's so wrong. All of it."

Carson couldn't argue with that. "Yes, it is."

"Are we... Can we keep Frank forever?" Nancy asked, looking up at him. "He needs us. He's so scared of everyone, and they did such bad things to him—he shouldn't have to go away to some stranger. What if they hurt him again? I promised him he'd be safe. I can't... If we can't keep him, then that could be a lie, and I don't want it to be a lie."

Carson took a deep breath and let it out again. "Nancy, I don't know that I can promise that. I was granted temporary custody of Frank for while he was in the hospital—forty-eight hours, to be precise. I've already filed a motion to extend that guardianship on a more permanent basis, but I don't know if that will be granted. We have him now because it was an emergency, but the courts might decide that somewhere else is better for him."

"The courts are wrong. He belongs with us."

"I know," Carson said, surprising himself with that statement. "And we will do what we can to keep him here, but we will have to go along with what the courts decide. That doesn't mean we can't continue to help him and to keep him safe. We will, no matter where he ends up."

Nancy folded her arms over her chest. "He should stay here. He's safe, and he doesn't have any other family. Just us."

Carson didn't want to fight about this. He knew he'd have to go with the court's decision, though he would try his damnedest to keep the boy here and out of the system. Still... If there was any other family out there, they'd stand a better chance—they could even take him away now if that were the case. "You're sure he has no family?"

Nancy nodded. "I asked him—he doesn't remember ever having a mother. Just his father, and that guy does _not_ get to be family."

"No, you're right. He doesn't deserve to be family," Carson agreed. "Still, maybe there are grandparents..."

"Dad—"

"If Frank has family, they might not know what his father did to him and they might not know where he is. If they're good people, he has a right to know them and they have a right to know him. It's just a thought, Nancy. We don't even know if they exist."

"I almost hope they don't," Nancy said. "I don't want him to ever leave us."


	6. The Right Yet Wrong Kind of Help

**Author's Note:** So... That disclaimer I almost made? This is the reason for it. And this scene with Fenton has gone through several iterations and ended up split in two, but it was the first scene I wrote for this story.

I think this should start to clear up a few things.

* * *

 **The Right Yet Wrong Kind of Help**

"You want to level with me, Hardy?" Alexander asked, and Frank knew he was fortunate that she'd bothered to wait until she'd sent Nancy back to the car to confront him. He'd known it was coming. He hadn't worked with her as long as he had and not gotten an idea of how her mind worked. Unfortunately, she had the same knowledge of him. "You can't tell me this is just about the review that's hanging over your head. And you won't convince me that it has nothing to do with her, either."

Frank leaned against the wall, trying to ignore the similarities between this house and one he would like to forget. The layout was the same, like they were built off the same floor plan which wasn't impossible. He figured they were from the same generation, same builder. Only the colors and decorations were different.

"It's complicated."

"She said that," Alexander said, smiling but with a warning in it. "I don't need repetition, and I do not like it. I'm not an idiot. I could tell it was complicated from the way you two looked at each other. I asked you once if you could work with her. Don't make me ask again."

Frank folded his arms over his chest. "I didn't say we couldn't. We are. I'm not sure why you're suddenly convinced we're not—you're the one who sent her to the car, not me. It seems more like you have the problem with her, not me."

Alexander snorted. "Sure, which is why you're picking fights with me and deliberately misunderstanding what I'm saying. Frank, we've known each other for too long for you to fool me any."

"I already have a mother. I don't need two."

"And I am not trying to be one. For one thing, I refuse to ever consider myself old enough for that. For another, we work together, and that crosses a line I don't want crossed. What I do want is a bit of honesty. I think you can give me that much. I've worked with you for too long to watch you sabotage yourself and your career. Not to mention I'd rather not see the case suffer because you're on a self-destructive kick."

Frank shook his head. "It's not what you think."

"Then what is it?"

He sighed. "When it comes to Nancy, I've never really been sure."

* * *

 _Between Thirteen and Fourteen Years Earlier_

"Mr. Drew?"

Carson looked up at the timid knock, frowning as he did. He didn't know how long it would take for that boy to relax enough to use his name. Frank had been living under the same roof as Carson for well over a year now, but he still called him "Mr. Drew" and kept his distance, about as afraid of him as he had been when he first came home from the hospital.

"Frank. Is there something I can help you with?"

The boy bit his lip, twisting it. Carson hoped it wouldn't start bleeding again. He had a bad habit of chewing it to try and stay calm. They should try another psychiatrist or counselor, but so far all of those attempts had been disasters. None of them wanted to let Nancy sit in, even at the initial sessions, and that always ended badly.

The only consolation Carson had was that Frank was doing better than expected with school, having used his time and access to a full curriculum to make progress enough to where he was close to surpassing the other kids his age—if they were right about exactly what that age was.

Trouble was, no one was sure, and not just about the boy's age.

"Frank?"

"I keep having the same dream," Frank admitted. He looked down at his feet, and Carson pushed his paperwork into a folder, giving his ward the time the boy needed to compose himself and say what he needed to say.

When the silence seemed to have stretched on too long, Carson decided to try and prompt Frank as gently as he could. "Is this about the trial? I know that it must seem like it is both coming up too fast and taking far too long, but the investigation—"

"You have to send me away."

Carson blinked. "What? Where did that come from?"

Frank met his eyes for a moment. "I... He was going to make me hurt her..."

"But you didn't," Carson said, confused. Was the boy dreaming that he _had_ hurt Nancy? That was ridiculous. Carson didn't believe Frank could hurt anyone, and certainly not his daughter. Nancy meant too much to him. "I don't think you could ever do that."

"I..." Frank's head jerked up and he met Carson's eyes with the same fear he'd had the first day they met, only back then the boy didn't look at anyone in the eyes, not even Nancy. "She's... pretty. That's the right word for it, isn't it? And she... she smells good. When she smiles at me... I feel funny. Then the dreams come, and I see... I do what he told me to do... but I... I almost want to because she's... She's pretty, and I feel strange around her. She used to just make me feel safe, but now I... I don't know what I feel. I'm... it scares me. You'll have to send me away so I don't hurt her."

Carson felt like he'd been sucker punched. Of course, a part of him said it was only logical, Frank developing feelings for Nancy, since he was starting to normalize but was still a boy in puberty, with Nancy almost the only girl around for him to be attracted to, but the rest of Carson rebelled against it. He was a father of a little girl, and while in many ways Nancy was more mature than other children her age, she was still that little girl to his mind. He was not ready for her to date. He was not ready for her to grow up. And Frank... while the boy was not his son, Carson was responsible for him. The idea of the two of them... oh, it made his head hurt.

"Frank," Carson began, knowing that there was at least one thing he had to say here and now. "I am not sending you away. You are... You are experiencing what all of us men go through in our lives. It's... It's called puberty, and we all have to deal with it as a part of growing older. In your case, I think a few of us might have assumed that you were already past it or not going to have to worry about it the way that we did because of what happened to you. I'm sorry we let you down in that regard."

"But—"

"Attraction is a part of life. In your case, it's confusing for you because—one, you're not ready for it, few of us are—but two, you were the victim of a perversion of attraction, where people you didn't want touching you did so much more than that. Three... you don't have a wide social circle, so you have Nancy and Hannah and me... there's not a lot of options there, and it seems reasonable you would find yourself... feeling something toward Nancy because she has been the safety you lacked for so long."

Frank fidgeted. "Would it be better if... if this attraction was... for one of her friends? Like... Bess or George? They... are nice but... they... I don't know..."

Carson rose. He went to Frank's side and put his hands on the boy's shoulders. "We will figure this out. I don't know how to stop the dreams, but we will find a way to help you past this, okay?"

Frank swallowed. "You... you don't think I'm bad... that I have to be... punished...?"

"No," Carson said, wrapping his arms around the boy like he might his daughter. "I don't think that at all. You're a good kid and you—"

Frank shoved him away and ran out of the room.

* * *

"Am I speaking to Fenton Hardy?"

"Yes," Fenton agreed, adjusting the phone on his shoulder as he flipped through his paperwork. Laura had come down with the flu after almost two weeks tending to their son, and the office was a mess. He hadn't realized just how much she did and how dependent on her he was. He should know, but he had a bad habit of forgetting it. He would have to tell her again how much he appreciated her and how much he needed her. He also owed her at least a dinner out or some flowers, whatever she wanted, really.

"My name is Carson Drew. You were recommended to me as a detective, and I am hoping that you will be able to assist me."

"Drew? As in the same Carson Drew who made national headlines not that long ago?" Fenton hadn't forgotten the name. He'd seen it in almost all the major papers for weeks. Drew had been national news, not for anything _he'd_ done, but for what he'd uncovered, and if this related to that case, Fenton both did and didn't want to be a part of it.

"I am afraid that may well be the case," Drew said. "I am a bit more famous than I would like."

"Uncovering a child pornography ring on that scale gets you a lot of attention."

"Unwanted at best," Drew said. He drew in a breath and let it out. "I asked for recommendations because I needed someone in your area that could look into some missing persons cases. Specifically... I'm looking for reports of a boy who went missing sometime in the last fourteen years. I don't have much to go on, I'm afraid, just the knowledge that the men behind this disappearance were active in your area fourteen years ago. They have since moved on, but... This boy's family, if they're still alive, deserve to know what happened to him."

Fenton winced. Cases with kids were the worst. He didn't think they'd ever get easier. It wasn't just having to worry about Joe over and over again. "Yes, they do. I can't imagine anything worse than not knowing, though... sometimes knowing is hard enough. Losing a child is something you never get over, no matter what the circumstances of that loss are."

"I'm afraid the agent that recommended you did not tell me this case would hit close to home for you. I wouldn't have called if I knew—"

"No, it's not... My wife and I lost our firstborn. He was... stillborn. Laura was heartbroken. I wasn't much better. We were able to have another, and we love Joe, but that doesn't erase what happened or the pain we still feel."

"I think they couldn't have recommended a better person for this job," Drew said. "Let me send you what information I can, and we'll go from there."

"Don't you want to know my rates and how much this will cost? You're making it sound like a needle in a haystack, and it's looking to be a very expensive one at that, one we may never find."

"I assure you, Mr. Hardy. Cost is not my concern. Finding that boy's family is."

* * *

"Mr. Drew," Fenton said as soon as the door opened, knowing the other man from the many pictures in the papers. He held out his hand, and Drew took it, shaking it firmly. "Fenton Hardy. I came to report my progress... or rather, the lack of it, and I thought under the circumstances, it was better to do that in person."

"Come in," Carson Drew said, appraising him as he let him into the house. "Though I'm afraid I may be more at fault for this lack of progress than you are."

"What do you mean by that?" Fenton asked, suspicion entering his voice as he studied the lawyer in turn. He'd accepted the job in good faith, and nothing about Drew made Fenton doubt him, not until just now, standing in this same room.

"You know my name and reputation from the papers," Drew said as he led Fenton back through the house, stopping at a door off the main foyer. He gestured for Fenton to go inside, and he did, finding himself in what could only be the other man's office with its walls of bookshelves and ornate desk against the one wall. Drew shut the door behind them. "You have to understand that the secrecy is... necessary. It wasn't me that uncovered the ring."

Fenton frowned. This was unexpected, to say the least. "It wasn't?"

Drew shook his head. "I've done everything I can to keep that part from the papers and every other source of media out there. It hasn't been easy. You see, this all began with my daughter befriending a young boy from the neighborhood. She became suspicious of a few things—he wasn't in school, he seemed terrified of his father, and there were lots of strange men coming and going from his home. When he disappeared, she took it upon herself to find him. She... broke in to his home."

Fenton swallowed, sitting down in the chair across from the desk. That was dangerous in any circumstance, but under these... "Was she hurt?"

"No, mercifully," Drew answered, taking the seat behind the desk. "She would have been, I'm almost certain of that, but her friend... He intervened, keeping her from the worst of it. She was lucky. He... wasn't."

Fenton winced. "Damn."

"My daughter has been the only one who can get him to say much of anything since we found them both," Drew continued. "He has been opening up more to me and my housekeeper, but that is after over a year's time and he still doesn't trust us much. Still, Nancy's ability to get him talking is part of why I was granted guardianship of him on a temporary basis—they've extended it a few times now, but it's not permanent, which concerns me and is part of the reason why I wanted to look into finding his family. The feds wanted him to keep talking to her and give them information he has. He's key to their investigation. He was held by these men long enough to identify many of the people involved, how they distributed the materials, and about other children who were abducted, abused, and killed. As long as he had more details to give them, it seemed clear he'd reside with us, but as the trial is coming closer yet the hearings on custody for him delayed..."

Fenton almost swore. Bad enough what that kid knew, but the implication of what the so-called justice system was likely to do with him now that he'd 'served his purpose' was almost worse. "You're thinking they're going to take custody from you after the trial."

Drew nodded. "That's not the only reason why I'm interested in finding his family, of course, but it is a major one."

"As I understand it, though, most of these men are behind bars," Fenton said. "The ring has been rounded up themselves and are due to be locked away for good. I'm not sure why you would need my services—didn't the kid give you all the information you needed?"

"Well, that part is a bit delicate," Drew said, checking to be sure his office door was shut. "In all the time that the investigation has been going on, little has been done to dig into the boy's origin. He was raised to believe that one of the men was his father—he believed the man was the only family he had in the world. No mother, no siblings..."

Fenton leaned back in the chair. "Only he wasn't his father."

"No, and the DNA test confirmed that—he's not related to the boy at all. The authorities haven't done much to find his birth family. They did trace the ring back to your home state possibly close to the time of Frank's birth—we assume he's about fourteen now, but we're not certain. He doesn't know how old he is."

Fenton nodded, trying not to react to the name the kid shared with his own dead son—or the fact that Frank, had he lived, would have been about fourteen now, too. "So you hired me to find the boy's family."

"Yes. I assume he was abducted by these men when he was very young, at least too young to remember anything before his 'father' and the abuse." Drew tented his hands. "I had hoped that if you had a good possibility, we could go as far as tests to confirm his identity, through you said... You didn't find anything? Not one match?"

"You effectively tied my hands. I assumed you didn't know much of anything about this kid, that he was another victim of this ring, one of the ones who had been taken and killed. You didn't say he was still alive, and you sure as hell didn't send a picture that could have narrowed this thing down considerably. We could have done portraits for other ages, seen what he might have looked like when he was taken or—"

Drew held up a hand, getting to his feet and going toward the door. He opened it and shook his head. "Nancy, what have I told you about eavesdropping?"

Fenton watched as a young girl came into view. Her fiery hair matched the bold gaze she turned on him, assessing him. Whatever she saw had her frowning, but she turned back to her father with a defiant gaze. "You were talking about Frank, and you know having strangers in the house scares him. I wanted to know what was going on."

"This is Fenton Hardy," Drew told her. "I asked him to investigate missing persons reports and see if we could connect them to Frank."

"You're not sending him away," she said, arms folded over her chest. "How could you? I thought we agreed we were family and—"

"Nancy," Drew began, voice firm and slightly cold. "You know better than this. We have to consider what is best for everyone, and while you want to keep Frank here, if he has family out there, they have a right to know him and he has a right to know them. We've discussed this."

"His family let him go to a monster. They didn't care—"

"You don't know that. None of us knows how Frank ended up in that man's hands," Drew said. "Now go to your room and—Frank, please come here. I wanted to discuss this with you later, when there was something more to discuss, but as it is, there is someone you should probably meet."

The girl tugged someone forward, and Fenton could only stare as he caught sight of Frank. He had to be imagining it. This was the product of a long flight and a fruitless search, paranoia and wishful thinking all at once. It wasn't possible. He was wrong.

"No," the boy said, choking on the word as he tried to pull away from the girl and the room. "You promised I didn't have to do that anymore. You said—"

"Frank," Drew said, making no move to go toward him, apparently experienced with this sort of panicked reaction. "Mr. Hardy is a detective. I asked him here for help. He is not here to hurt you, not here to do anything to you. I wanted to see if he could help us find your real family."

"I don't..." Frank looked at Fenton, trembling. He turned back to Drew. "You said you understood. You said you weren't sending me away even when I said... You said I wasn't as bad or horrible as he was... You think I am, don't you?"

"No," Drew assured him quickly. "It's not a punishment. This was meant to help."

"I'm afraid it feels rather like a cruel joke to me," Fenton said. He put a hand to his head as he rose, needing to get a better look at this child. "It shouldn't be possible, but looking at him..."

"I won't do that with you!" Frank shouted, yanking out of everyone's reach and running from the room. Fenton winced. He hadn't meant to cause that reaction or scare him. That was not what he wanted at all.

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have moved. I just... I had to get a better view of his face. It's so strange. It's like a time warp. For a moment there, I could have sworn I was looking at myself at his age."

Drew gave Fenton a long, hard look. "Yes... I know they said your son was dead, but... there's a part of me that could easily believe that he is alive and was just standing in front of you."


	7. Feelings and Family

**Author's Note:** I didn't think I would get to an update today. Things got a little... complicated, and tomorrow will be worse. However, I thought maybe this story was more likely to see a complete update versus my other more overdue update, since it's dragging its feet. I'll still do my best to squeeze in work on everything around my schedule, but it is not looking good.

* * *

 **Feelings and Family**

"Did I miss something?" Nancy asked, aware that the tension had increased and the conversation had died almost as soon as the floorboard announced her return. She had wondered if Alexander had sent her back to the car as a ruse, but she'd been willing to go along with it as she wanted someone to reach out to Frank, and she didn't know that he'd let it be her, not this time.

For her, it was strange, being shut out that way. She knew they'd let some distance grow between them—she was thinking he'd done it deliberately and she couldn't blame him, not when everyone assumed he was too weak to function without her—why wouldn't he break ties to prove that theory wrong? He was stronger than they realized and deserved the respect they weren't giving him by assuming he couldn't cope without her or someone else to support him.

She was just the catalyst that had started Frank on the path to healing, not the cure. She knew that. If Frank hadn't been able to overcome what happened to him, it wouldn't have mattered how much time he'd spent with her, whether he was dependent on her or not. He had to be willing to fight that battle for himself, no one else, and he had been. The fact that he'd survived the monster calling himself his father for as long as he had was proof enough that Frank had always been strong. He'd held out long enough to where he finally got free.

Most kids in his situation were not that lucky.

"Ally's got a theory," Frank said, leaning against the wall and ignoring the look his boss sent his way. "Trouble is, she never shares them before she's got proof, so it's just nagging at her and making her irritable."

"Don't call me that," Alexander said, and sure enough, there was irritation in her voice, enough to make Frank's explanation plausible to almost anyone. Nancy wasn't sure that she bought it, not when she was almost certain she'd been sent off for Frank and Alexander to have a private talk about her.

Or maybe she was just getting a bit ahead of herself. Maybe she assumed too much. Alexander could have wanted to discuss the case without her around. The FBI might not want to share information with a local detective, even if she was supposed to be their liaison.

"I have a few of them myself, none of which are in the files," Nancy admitted. "And I'd be willing to share mine... under certain conditions, of course."

Alexander nodded. "Understandable. Never offer more than you have to, especially with no expectation of reciprocation."

"Cynic," Frank said, and Alexander smiled at him. Nancy watched them, still not understanding their relationship. They were something more than just colleagues, not exactly the right dynamic for superior and subordinate, though Alexander didn't fawn over Frank the way Nancy's boss sometimes did. She didn't care for that herself, but then she didn't think Nelson was cut out for his job—even sometimes not right for a cop—so it shouldn't surprise her.

Partners? Had Frank and Alexander worked together before she became a supervisor? Or did Frank just pull that protective streak out in everyone?

No, that wouldn't work with this Frank. He was jaded, bitter, and doing his best to push people way, though he hadn't been outrightly cruel about it. He had that attitude that warned people to stay away, and Nancy figured it had worked on McKay and Conners. People who didn't know Frank from before would have been fooled by it and written him off as someone not worth the hassle of knowing, but she knew better, and she thought Alexander did, too.

"There are more crime scenes," Frank reminded everyone. "In fact, more of them than daylight left in this particular day."

Alexander nodded. "We should get a sense of the others before it gets any later. You ready to move on, Drew?"

She gave Frank a glance, still trying to figure him out, but she managed to nod. "Yes. I can take you to the next scene whenever you're ready."

"Now is as good a time as any," Frank said, and Alexander let him leave first. Nancy knew he'd hate her for it, but turnabout was fair play, and if they'd talked about her, she could ask about him. She stepped in front of the other woman, blocking the agent's path.

"How is he? Not this... act he's using, but underneath it? Is it really as bad as it seems?"

"Truthfully? I don't know."

* * *

 _Between Thirteen and Fourteen Years Earlier_

"Would you like to be alone?" Carson asked, hands on the folder. He knew most of them saw this as a formality—most because Nancy wanted to deny it to keep her friend and Frank could only see a monster and not a possible father and family. To the rest of them, it was obvious that Hardy was related to Frank somehow, almost certainly his father.

Hardy shook his head. "No, that's not necessary. I took time alone in my hotel room, trying to decide how I felt about this, about him being my son... I don't know how to feel or what to think. On the one hand, I'm almost thrilled by the idea that my son isn't dead. That he's alive and I get another chance. On the other hand... How did I miss this? How did I not know that he was alive? And what he's been through... I can't begin to imagine—I don't know how to help him, but as his father, I'd have to help him. I don't know how to tell Laura or Joe about this. I... I chose to wait until I had those results. That way I'm not getting my family's hopes up or his. Though... I don't know that he wants me to be anything to him."

Carson tapped his fingers on the folder. "To be honest, I don't know. Frank doesn't confide in me, not usually. He is still distant from everyone but Nancy. I would like to believe that it is better for Frank to have his family, but it is difficult to say. He's using Nancy as a buffer between him and the world, has been since she found him. She's safe, in his opinion, and people she trusts can be cautiously trusted as well. I'm afraid she doesn't trust you, but she's—she's scared you're going to take Frank away from her, and to be honest, you will."

Hardy grimaced. "Well, yes, likely I would. My family, home, and business are all on the other side of the country. It might be possible to relocate, but it's not my decision alone, and it will impact all of our lives."

"It could be a lot of fuss over nothing," Carson said. He had no idea what the results said, but he didn't think they would deny what seemed obvious. Still, they could be wrong. Maybe Hardy was unconnected to the boy. "I don't know how I feel about it, either. Frank isn't my son, but I have been responsible for him... I don't see any reason to doubt you, but it would be foolish of me to assume you are everything you seem to be on the surface."

"No one is. I would promise you that Frank would be safe with me and my family, but without trust, there's no way for that to be anything more than words."

Carson lifted the folder. "It could be blood."

"He was already hurt once by a man claiming to be his father."

"Yes, and that makes it more difficult. Not impossible to overcome, but far from easy."

Hardy pointed to the envelope. "I think we need to open that and take this from theory to more of a practical application."

Carson took the papers out of the folder, checking the results before passing them over to the other man. He waited, trying to hold in his own reaction to the test. He would let Hardy's response determine his own.

Hardy took a deep breath and let it out. "I need to call my wife."

* * *

"Someone explain to me how this is even possible," Laura said, her hand on her head as she tried to control her reaction. Fenton reached for her, but she pulled away. She didn't want his comfort, and he didn't know that he could blame her—he did blame himself, couldn't help it. He had somehow managed to miss the fact that his son had been taken. Frank's death had never seemed right to him, never felt like it should have been, but Fenton had forced himself to accept it when he should have fought it, should have proved that it was a lie.

He'd let his son go, and because of that, Frank was... He'd suffered. He had suffered so much that Fenton would never forgive himself.

"From what we now know," the FBI agent began, and Laura blinked, looking over at him. She hadn't expected him to answer, and Fenton didn't know that she wanted the answer from the FBI. She might not even want it from Fenton. "Your obstetrician, Doctor Witte, had a severe gambling problem, and he owed money to loan shark connected to the mob. Apparently desperate, he had decided to sell a patient's baby for the money to pay back his debts, but the one he intended to take—one due to be given up for adoption—died the day your son was born. He had only a few hours to come up with the money, so he took your son."

Laura shuddered. Fenton shook his head. "How is that even possible? He... He let Laura hold Frank for as long as she wanted. We didn't let Frank go for hours. We... couldn't."

"He said he gave the baby a paralytic during the birth so that he could convince you that Frank had been born dead," Knox explained, and Laura gagged, shoving at Fenton as she rose, needing to move as she tried to accept what the agent was saying. "We... We do believe that at first, Frank was used as a part of baby selling scheme. He would be offered to couples rich and desperate enough to buy a baby, and then stolen when they'd paid. The parents wouldn't report the crime, so they could do this over and over again. It was only after he... outgrew that role that he was given over to their... other enterprises."

"He was still a _baby,"_ Laura snapped, whirling back to face the agent. "How could they _do_ that to him? He... He wasn't a tool. He was our son. He was a little boy. He didn't..."

Fenton went to her side, wrapping his arms around her. He wanted to get his hands on that doctor and wring his neck. He wanted to make sure the man—men—who'd hurt his son died slow, painful deaths. He wanted to hurt them all, make them pay for what they'd done to his child. He would have hurt them for any child, but this was his son.

"I understand your distress—"

"I don't think you could possibly understand," Laura told him, and Fenton couldn't argue with her statement. He rubbed her back, hoping he could do something, anything to help her, even if he didn't know how to help himself. And how were they supposed to explain any of this to Joe?

"We do have to discuss the ramifications of this as pertain to the case."

"The case?" Laura demanded. "Do you have any idea how you sound when you—"

"Frank is their main witness," Fenton said, keeping his voice quiet. "They're going to be concerned about us taking him and refusing to let him testify."

Laura's eyes darkened as she faced the agent. "Those men will pay for everything they did to him. They will go to prison for the rest of their lives if I have anything to say about it—and I'd much rather they all died horrible deaths. People who can do that to a child—they don't deserve to be free."

"At least we agree on that much," Knox said.

"About the only thing we do agree on," Laura said. She pointed to the door. "You should leave. Now, preferably."

* * *

"Frank?"

He wrapped his arms tighter around his legs, hoping he wasn't going to have one of those other reactions to Nancy right now. That was not what he needed. This was hard enough without that, and he really, truly, did not want her to know about any of it. He hadn't wanted to tell her father, but he was scared he might do something wrong, something that would hurt her like he had been hurt.

"I don't have a family. I knew that... Knew it even before they told me he wasn't really my father."

Nancy came over and sat down next to him, crowding his bed. That hadn't been so bad when he first came to stay here—her presence was soothing, keeping him from feeling like her father might... come in and do things to him. Frank wanted to trust Mr. Drew, but it was difficult. His father—the man who said he was his father—had told him to trust men that had done terrible things to him.

"I wanted you to be family," Nancy said, leaning against him. "I don't want to lose you."

Frank wanted to turn to her and wrap his arms around her instead of his legs. He didn't move. "I don't know that I want a family."

"They're not bad things. You knew a bad man. This one... seems nicer."

"Half the men he forced me to do things with seemed nicer. Then they..." Frank swallowed, shaking that thought off. He felt sick again. "I can't do this. I don't... How can I have a family? They won't want me, not knowing what I've done. Those things... The stuff he—"

"Frank, that wasn't you. You didn't choose to do that. You didn't. You were forced into it, even when you might have seemed to have a choice—you didn't. He had you trapped and scared, and he coerced you into the things you 'did.' You are not to blame for that, and anyone who says you are... They wouldn't deserve you."

Nancy finished her speech by hugging him almost too tight for him to breathe. He tried not to tremble. He didn't know how to handle any of this. He'd seen the results. The tests they'd done said that Fenton Hardy was his father, and that made his wife Frank's mother, and they had another son, so he had a brother. None of that felt real, though, and Frank almost wanted the test to have been a trick, some kind of lie like his other 'father' used to tell.

"I'm scared," Frank admitted. "I don't... I'm not normal. You know I'm not. As nice as your friends are, they think I'm a freak."

"No," Nancy said. "They don't know how to react to your reactions, but you're not a freak. You have post-traumatic stress, and that's understandable after all that's happened."

Frank turned to look at her. "Nancy, I..."

A knock on the door made him jump, and he bumped Nancy when he did. Hannah gave him a warm smile, one he knew was supposed to encourage him.

"Frank, there's someone here to see you. I believe she's your mother."


	8. Mothers and Mysteries

**Author's Note:** I am very sorry for the delay in this. My week kind of imploded and things were bad, worse than what I thought when I warned I'd be delayed in posting updates.

I finally have an update now, and I will try to be back on course now, but I can't promise that as things still seem kind of grim here.

* * *

 **Mothers and Mysteries**

"And this," Nancy said as she pushed open the door, "is what got your office called and the feds involved."

Frank didn't look at her as he went inside. She remembered him being the quiet type, all the more so when he was working on a case. From the beginning, he'd kept pretty quiet, not speaking up until one of Nancy or Joe's theories was getting too out of hand. Then he'd show that his mind was brilliant, far more so than anyone who knew what he'd gone through expected. It wasn't just Frank's natural gift for technology, but also his apparently inherited gift for mysteries that he shared with his father and Joe. His mind was good at seeing the big picture and the smaller details that Joe or Nancy might miss. Joe was always ready to act, and Nancy liked to think she had good instincts and intuition, but it was Frank that made the picture complete.

That he was even willing to look at cases after his childhood had surprised almost everyone, dismayed her father, she thought. Carson had liked her near break from cases when Frank came into her life, but while she'd been involved in fewer mysteries, she hadn't given them up because of her new friend. She'd tried not to get him involved when so much frightened him, but she had.

He'd even helped her when she got stuck, and finding out he was the son of a famous detective shouldn't have surprised her. It fit, since he had the mind for puzzles, even when he was still trying to cope with his nightmares.

She had to wonder how those wheels in his head were turning now, what they would come up with now, seeing this. Her department had known that the killings were the work of a serial offender even before this call came in, but there was something about it that nagged at her, something she had never been able to pin down, even when she'd apparently gotten close enough to something to land her in the hospital.

She hadn't opposed the decision to bring the feds in, not when she knew she was missing something and fresh eyes could help, not when her conversations with her friends and Joe hadn't filled in that piece for her. Now, of course, she figured that Joe had ulterior motives in recommending that she invite in the feds, though how he could have known Frank would be assigned her she couldn't guess. She'd confront him about that later, when she was alone.

"Frank?"

Alexander's voice drew Nancy out of her thoughts, and she frowned, looking at her friend in concern. As guarded as he'd been before, he was not that now. They could both see too much, from the way he gripped the back of the chair he'd stopped beside to the pale color of his skin contrasted against the growing shadow of the evening.

Nancy took a step toward him. "This reminds you of something, doesn't it?"

His head jerked toward her, and he swallowed, giving her one tight nod. "One of his... sets. It was just like this room."

"You're sure?"

Frank nodded. "Can't forget that one. He... That was one of the ones he made where... where I had to cooperate with him. He had one of the other boys. I... I did what he wanted and he killed him anyway. That fireplace... That was where he put the body afterward."

Nancy tried not to gag, hoping that was the end of the story, as bad as that little bit was.

"Who the hell is this 'he' you're talking about?" Alexander asked, arms folded over her chest. She didn't know about this? How could she not know Frank's past? Was that even possible anymore? "Is this bastard still free?"

"No," Nancy said, shaking her head. "He... He got life in prison. Died in a riot. We were all rather relieved, actually."

"You were relieved," Frank corrected. "Most of my family was angry. That was too quick a death for him. Way too quick—and none of them got to do it."

* * *

 _Between Fourteen and Thirteen Years Earlier_

Frank looked back at Nancy, and she smiled at him encouragingly, giving him another shove toward the door. He gave her a look, and she just smiled at him. He knew no one was going to let him out of seeing this woman who was supposedly his mother. He had to go in there and get it over with. He couldn't do anything else, not now.

He took a step inside the living room, stopping to stare at her. She was pretty—not in the way he thought sometimes Nancy was, but in one of those painting ways, like someone whose face could be on the wall of some museum for her expression alone. Something about it appealed to him, not in the confusing way that Nancy did, but in a way where he could almost feel safe with her as he had Nancy. She didn't remind him of the women his father—not his father—had brought in to the movies sometimes. She didn't wear the same kind of clothes, didn't look like she would hurt anyone.

"Oh, damn," she said, and he jerked at her words. She gave him a small smile of apology. "I'm sorry. I don't usually use that kind of language, and I wouldn't let Joe do it, but I wasn't prepared for this. I thought I was, and I know Fenton said you looked so much like him—it's still hard to take in. You're so grown... I think Joe will be jealous that you've already had that growth spurt he's still waiting for—and you're such a little man already. So much time lost..."

He swallowed, trying to find words. "I... I didn't actually want to grow. He didn't like it when I got taller. Older. Some of the men didn't want to do it anymore when I was older, and he always punished me for that."

She shook her head. "I... If I could get my hands on that man, I don't know that I would leave anything left of him for what he did to you. You were just a baby... My baby..."  
Frank bit his lip. "I... Not by then. I sometimes dreamed that if I got big enough I could stop him, but he was too tall and there was always someone else with him... And he would have killed me like he killed the others."

"Oh, Frank," she whispered, coming close to him. She stopped herself just as her hands almost touched him. "I... I want to take you in my arms and hold you forever, tell you that it will be all right. Joe's gotten too old for that, he thinks, but I just... I would hold you forever. I tried to, once. They actually sedated me because I wouldn't let you go. I just... couldn't believe my baby was dead. I don't know how you can ever forgive us for that."

Frank blinked. "I don't... what are you talking about?"

"When you were born, they said... The doctor said you had died. I didn't believe that. I knew I'd felt you kick not that long ago," she said, and her hand took his. He didn't stop her, trying to understand how he felt about that. "He let me hold you for hours, thinking I'd let you go—I almost didn't. I kept thinking you'd start breathing again, that if I just waited... In the end, they sedated me because I couldn't let go. Your father wasn't much better. We were so lost... Neither of us believed it, but we... We let the doctor tell us it was true. I don't know how you can ever forgive us for that. We knew better, and we should have fought it, but... they said that was just grief... It wasn't. And I'm sorry. So sorry. When I think of all you went through... I hate myself for letting you go."

He could only stare at her. "But... I..."

She moved her hand to his face. "I want you to know there wasn't a day that went by that I didn't miss you. That I didn't want you there. I used to picture you beside your brother, imaging you as you grew just like he did, and that you'd look so much like Fenton—like you do, you really do—and I thought of what you might like and how smart you would be... I loved you then, and that has not stopped."

He pulled back from her. "Why would you love me? You said you knew what I did, what he made me do—with those men and with him—and it's sick and—he said I was only good for that and—"

"And he lied," she insisted. "He _lied._ You are not the one at fault for that. He was the one who did wrong—him and all those other men—and you were not. You were hurt, not the one doing the hurting. And no one thinks you are somehow less because of the things they did. I wish I could have protected you from it, but I do not blame you for it. That wasn't your doing. You did not deserve that. You were so small... I remember thinking you were perfect, even when you were so still in my arms..."

"I..." Frank didn't know what to say. He turned, backing out the door. "I have to go."

* * *

"Those bastards had better all get life. I'd push for the death penalty, but I want them to get life, at the very least," Laura fumed, pacing around the hotel room. Fenton watched her, not sure how to help her or if she was even ready for him to try yet. She picked up a brush, looking like she wanted to throw it, and he had no choice but to take it from her before she did. Angry tears streaked her face. "He thought I wouldn't love him because of what they did. Fenton, they hurt our baby..."

 _He's not a baby anymore,_ Fenton thought, but he didn't say it. The fact that he'd been kept from his son long enough for Frank to be practically grown just made him angrier, so why wouldn't she be just as mad?

"You did better than I did," he told her. "He actually spoke to you. He still won't even look at me."

She winced. "That man called himself Frank's father and twisted that for so long, I'm not sure he will be able to separate the idea of him from you, but the more you prove you're a different sort of man, the more he will understand that and accept you as the father he should always have had."

"I know. It's just hard to be patient. I want to go to him and help him like I do Joe, but he's not willing to let me do that. He's not willing to do anything with me."

"I don't think he wanted to do much with me, either, but he's trying, Fenton, and that's all we can ask for at this point," Laura said. She sighed, sitting down on the bed. "What are we going to tell Joe? I don't know what to say to prepare him or how he will react to meeting his brother. They... The only other kids he got to interact with before this girl who rescued him were killed, so I imagine he'd be afraid to let Joe near him as well."

"Perhaps. Or it could be that Joe would be the answer we need. Nancy's closer to him than anyone else right now... He might trust a child more than an adult."

Laura nodded. "I'll call Gertrude."

"Do not tell her. Not yet. I don't think Frank could take my sister."

His wife snorted. "What kind of a fool do you take me for, Fenton Hardy? I know perfectly well that it's too soon to expose him to Gertrude's caustic personality. She's a good woman, but Frank's already convinced that he's worthless because of what those men did. We are not going to let her say something to reinforce that until we've had enough time to assure him that it's not true."

Fenton almost laughed. "And how do you expect to keep Gertrude away from him for the rest of his life?"

* * *

Nancy unfolded the map and frowned at it as it covered her bed. She had it next to a modern one of the same area, and it seemed to be almost identical. "I know it's just supposed to be an old legend, but this one seems to be more than that."

"Not another treasure hunt," Bess said, groaning. "Last time I had throw away my favorite shoes. I couldn't get the mud off of them. They were ruined."

"Maybe next time you should wear practical shoes."

Bess turned to stick her tongue out at her cousin, but George just shook her head. That had actually come from Frank, and Nancy was proud of him for joining the conversation. Half the time the girls forgot he was there, and then he would startle her friends by saying something. They did find that habit of his kind of creepy. Nancy knew he didn't mean it to be—he was uncomfortable around people and didn't know how to interact with her friends, so he kept silent even if he was invited and if he had something useful to say.

"And there wasn't any treasure there," Bess finished. "Besides, like you said, it's a legend. Everyone knows the story about the Forester gold. And everyone knows it's just a story. None of it is real. Not one word."

"Except some people really believe in it," George said. "How many people have gotten lost or killed trying to find that legend?"

"Exactly," Nancy said. "They might think they have the real map this time."

"Which makes it motive. And dangerous," Frank said, but instead of pulling back into the corner like usual, he came over to the maps and studied them. He pointed to a mark on the supposed antique treasure map. "That is not on any of the modern maps you've studied."

"Any of the maps? Just how many of these things have you looked at, Nancy?" George asked, moving forward.

"A few," Nancy said, dismissing it. "Do you think that's the connection, Frank?"

He shrugged, retreating to his usual spot. "I don't know. It might have made someone else think that he had one."

A knock came on the door, and everyone looked up to see Carson standing there. He gave them all a smile. "I see we're hard at work. Is that the Forester treasure map?"

"Yes."

"Hannah might have a heart attack if you bring back that much dirt on your clothes again."

Nancy laughed. "Dad, we're not actually hunting down the treasure. We think this map was the motive for that attempted burglary last week."

"We?"

Nancy nodded. "Yes, _we._ Mostly Frank and me, but we all kind of agreed on it. Did you need something from us?"

Carson glanced at the map. He didn't seem that happy, but then it had been a while since Nancy had been on a case, and maybe he'd liked it that way. Frank didn't like going out much, but he would if she asked him to, and she tried not to abuse that much. She knew her dad might not like it if he knew some of the places she'd gotten Frank to go to with her.

"Is something wrong, Mr. Drew?" Bess asked, exchanging a look with her cousin.

"Oh, no," Carson said, shaking his head and giving them another smile. "I just needed to borrow Frank for a minute."

"What?" Frank tensed, and Nancy saw her father wince ever so slightly. "I don't—"

"Your mother and fath—the Hardys would like to talk to you. They were hoping you might be open to going out to dinner with them," Carson told him. Frank just frowned at him. "It may be easier for you to meet with them on more neutral ground, and I believe they have someone else they would like to introduce you to."

Frank swallowed. "I don't know. It was hard enough to see them once..."

Nancy sighed. "Frank, they _are_ your family, and you heard your mom. She seems like a nice person. I know I'd like to have a mom... Not that I'm complaining—what I have is great—but you shouldn't give up with one visit, even if it was hard."

"Yes, but... I don't know that I'm ready to meet my brother."


	9. Brothers and Bad Ideas

**Author's Note:** The idea of introducing Joe to this mess was... intimidating, to say the least. I didn't know how to handle it at first, and then I had part of the scene with his conversation with Fenton and Laura come to me, but this last bit has been a little crazy and I've been sick, so I'm only now getting it all together to post. Here's hoping Joe entering this world does not disappoint.

* * *

 **Brothers and Bad Ideas**

"You need a break, Hardy?"

Frank shook his head. The room at the last house had shaken him, dragging up some of the worst memories he had, but he wasn't tired, and he hated letting the memories win. They didn't get to leave him broken anymore. He was grown and over them, and that was how it had to be. He worked, he took on cases his therapists would have thrown fits about and his family didn't like him digging into, and he didn't break. He kept going despite everything that said he shouldn't—even himself.

He was fine, and he was not going to admit otherwise, not now. Not here.

"We have been at this all day," Nancy said, throwing her opinion in with Alexander's, apparently. "We could stop for a while, start collecting thoughts and theories—and get something to eat."

"I'm not going to turn down food," Alexander said. "Should, considering what we've been working on, but I figure a bit of an iron stomach is required for this line of work. My mother's cooking made sure I had one of those, that's for damn sure. Where's the nearest grease-filled diner where we can get something with no nutritional value?"

Nancy smiled. "Well, while it might be a requirement to have that kind of stomach, I was spoiled growing up with one of the best cooks in the world, or so I'm told."

"Joe's opinion means nothing. He'll eat anything."

"I should tell Hannah that you said that," Nancy muttered. "I think she would have been willing to cook for us, but then you go and say something like that and—"

"You are not making Hannah cook for us," Frank said, not sure if he was more bothered by the idea of setting foot in Nancy's childhood home again or by the idea of seeing more people that he knew. He didn't want to face more of the past. "She's retired by now, isn't she? She should be. Let her enjoy it and don't bother her."

Nancy shook her head. "You act like it's not something she'd want to do. She's always telling me she misses when I was there to cook for more than a night or two a week. Or month. Not only that, but she adores you. She would love to see you again while you're in town."

"No." Frank said. "Take Alexander if you want to, but I'm not going. I am not hungry, I don't need a break, and I have no interest in seeing anyone. I've got work to do."

"You can't mean that," Nancy protested. "Dad, Hannah, Bess, and George—they'll all want to see you while you're here, and since it's so rare you're even close to the neighborhood, you can't just ignore them when you're in town. It's—"

"I am here to work, not to socialize," Frank told her. "Since you're clearly done with that for the day, I think we can go our separate ways now."

She blinked. "I don't understand. Even if you were mad at me, and I don't know why you would be since as far as I know I've never given you a reason to be, you don't need to take that out on them. You were almost a son to Dad for a while, and Hannah claimed you as her own. Maybe things were still awkward with you and Bess and George, but to just ignore them—"

"Is my choice and not one I have to explain to you," Frank told her. "We're done here."

* * *

 _Between Thirteen and Fourteen Years Earlier_

"What do you mean, this is about my brother?" Joe demanded. He was starting to think he should never have got on that plane. Aunt Gertrude hadn't wanted him to, so he'd been that much more determined to do it, but coming here might have been a mistake. "I don't have a brother. I mean, I _did,_ but I don't. He died. I don't know why we're talking about him."

He could have kicked himself for the look on his mother's face, since she got that way just about any time Frank was mentioned or discussed—Joe sometimes found it easier to pretend Frank had never existed, period. All talking about him did was upset his mom or his dad, though it was a little less obvious with his dad. His mom really showed it, like she'd been stabbed with a thousand knives all at once. He hated that look on her face, hated seeing it and knowing there was nothing that could be done about it—Frank was dead, and nothing fixed that.

"Frank isn't dead."

Joe swallowed. He wasn't sure he knew how to react to that. It sounded almost like his parents had gone off the deep end again. "I think I must have heard you wrong. You just said Frank was alive."

"Joe," Fenton took over, and that tone in his father's voice told him that he was not only serious but very close to being angry as well. Joe was going to be in trouble because of Frank again. It wasn't that he wanted to be insensitive, but it wasn't the same for him. Frank had never been a part of his life, and it was hard to be as sad about that as they were. He had close enough friends that he'd never minded all that much that he never had a brother. He also gave up on the idea years ago because it was clear that his parents were never going through the whole having a baby thing again after the trauma they'd had with Frank.

He understood all that. Frank was gone, his parents weren't over it, and now they might just have gone too far.

"Frank was abducted when he was a baby."

Joe folded his arms over his chest. "You said he was dead and you held him for hours and—"

"Frank was taken from us," Fenton repeated, his tone warning, and Joe decided he'd better stay silent for the rest of this or he'd be in real trouble. "He was stolen by his doctor who had gambling debts and then used in a baby selling scheme, or so the FBI believes. There... is more than that, though."

Joe leaned against the wall. He should have known—no way he'd been sent across the country on his own for something simple. His parents going off their rocker was almost perfect, just so fitting. His father got some weirdo case, his mother followed him, and now Joe was stuck here trying to pick up the pieces. "What else?"

Fenton sighed. "He wasn't always a baby, Joe. You understand that, don't you?"

"Yes. I'd say that meant they killed him when they were done, but you said he was alive, so it's not that," Joe said. He looked at his father, frowning. "Well, what is it?"

"Your brother was... abused."

"Tortured," his mother said, shivering and running her hands over her arms. Joe saw tears in her eyes again, and he knew everyone was going to hate him for what he was about to say.

"Are you sure this isn't just... some kid you feel really bad for and so you want to... what, adopt him? You know you didn't have to come halfway across a country to do that. There are local kids who need help."

His father shook his head. "No, it's not. If Frank was willing to have his picture taken, I'd show you just how much he looks like me, and that's what led us to do the test in the first place... He's my son. Our son. Your brother. He was stolen. They hurt him and they used him, but he's alive and he's here. I..."

Joe looked between his parents. "You... believe this? That this kid is really Frank? What if he's just trying to trick you? What if he's lying and trying to use us somehow? It could be a trick."

His mother snorted. "It would be difficult for him to be using us when he won't have anything to with us."

Joe frowned. She was kidding, right? "Why would he claim to be your son and not see you?"

She sighed. "He didn't _claim_ anything. Your father found him on a case. Frank doesn't actually know what a family is or how to be a part of one... Your brother was badly hurt. These people made him... They did things to him, horrible things, and he won't—having you come here may have been a mistake. We thought you had a right to know and maybe seeing you would help, but Frank... He... Last time we tried to see him went badly, and he disappeared from the restaurant. That Nancy girl found him, but he could have been gone forever..."

His mom was ready to cry again, and Joe wanted to hurt something. If this kid—and Joe wasn't going to say this _was_ his brother or that he believed this guy was on the up and up—hurt his mom, then he had to make sure he paid.

* * *

Joe managed to slip out while his parents were in the middle of a debate over how best to approach this so-called brother of his again, leaving the hotel room and them behind him with one small click. He made his way down the stairs and out to where he could get a cab, giving the driver the address for Carson Drew his father had left on his desk back home. Joe had seen it there and wondered about it, but he hadn't thought it would end up mattering this much to anyone. His dad had lots of clients, and some of them were rich and others weren't, but none of that mattered since they rarely had anything to do with the rest of his family. Just Fenton and occasionally Laura because Joe's mom did the paperwork and billing.

Joe would have made sure that address got lost and the case never got taken if he'd known it would end up hurting his mother this much. He didn't see how either of his parents could be stupid enough to let an imposter fake them out like this, but he wasn't going to let some jerk ruin his family.

He had the cab driver stop in front of the Drew house, and he got out, looking at it. He should go in there and tell that kid just what he thought of someone who'd pretend to be someone's long lost son like that, about how sick a con that was and how wrong, but he didn't know that he'd get let in—probably not from what his parents were saying. This kid had supposedly freaked out so much no one was being allowed to see him.

Joe sat down on the curb across from the house, settling in next to a big old car and folding his arms over his chest as he watched the house for a moment. He just needed a way in, and if that was barging past the housekeeper, he'd do it.

"You know this is a bad idea," a voice said, and Joe looked over to see two kids almost his age crossing the street. The girl was in the lead, her red hair bouncing in a ponytail as she almost ran, and the boy hurried after her, a frown on his face. Joe frowned himself. Something was very familiar about that frown. "If you really think that this guy Carter stole that stuff, call the police and tell them."

"They won't—can't—do anything without proof," the girl said. "I'm going to get it. That's all. If I can at least tell them that I saw him with some of the stolen goods—"

"And if he doesn't kill you—"

"Carter hasn't killed anyone."

"You don't even _know_ that it's Carter," the boy countered, pulling her to a stop. He looked at her, shaking his head. "You're overlooking several other possibilities—and I don't just mean that he could be innocent. I mean that he could be working with someone or _for_ someone who is a lot more dangerous than he is. In fact, if you think about it, logically—there _had_ to be someone else. He couldn't have taken that statue by himself. Too heavy. He has help of some kind."

She shrugged, turning to go forward again. "So we'll get that person arrested, too, as soon as we find proof that Carter is the thief."

"Or get yourself killed," the boy hissed. "Nancy—"

"It'll be fine, Frank," she assured him with a smile. Her confidence came out in her voice as she tugged the boy along with her. "We're just taking a little look around his place, and he won't even be home when we do it."

"The partner might be, and you don't know that it will be fine," Frank said, though he seemed to be letting her pull him along despite his protests. Joe stood, needing to get another look at the kid before they got out of sight. Hadn't his mom mentioned a Nancy who found Frank? And they had been close to the Drew house—was that really the scared kid they said was his brother? He sounded worried but not as terrified as his mother had made him out to be.

"It's just a quick look."

Frank stopped again. "Is that what it was to you when you came after me? Did you actually think that was just a look, something quick and easy and—"

She put her fingers up to his lips. "No. I didn't—I didn't know much of anything except that I had to get you out of there before he got back. I hoped there was enough time, and I did call my dad before I went in, but I couldn't leave you there. You know that."

Frank turned away from her. "You know what that almost cost you."

"And I don't regret it," she said, taking hold of his hand. "This isn't the same, and I know you'll always worry, but you _do_ agree that it is Carter, don't you? You think he's behind it. Admit it. You saw the same evidence I did. You know it's him."

Frank sighed. "I don't know. I think your instincts are usually right, but you're too willing to let that be all you need, and it could end up with you getting really hurt this time. I don't want anything to happen to you. You're all I have."

"That's not true," she disagreed. "You've got Dad and Hannah—and the Hardys. They're your family."

"They are _not_ my family," Frank said, running a hand through his hair like he might yank it out. "They aren't. They're strangers.. They... that test has to be wrong. It can't be true because I don't have a family. I had—a family wouldn't want me after what he did to me, after what I did because of him..."

"You know that's not true. Your mom already said—"

"She's not my mother. She's some part of a trick. It all is," Frank said, looking at Nancy, and Joe thought he was two seconds from running or crying or both. "Why would you let them do that? Why go along with their lies? Why save me just to put me through all of that again? I won't go with them. You're not going to give me to another man who'll do... that... and you won't... That brother they want me to meet is just some kid they'll use to make me do what they want. Then they'll kill him, too, and make me watch. Or maybe this time they'll make me do it, and I won't—just kill me. I don't want to do this again. Why didn't they just kill me when... Why did I always have to be the one they kept? Sometimes I think it would have been easier if they'd killed me instead of the other boys—"

"No," she said, reaching up to touch his face. "No. Please don't think that. I know it's hard because they did so many horrible things to you, but I promise you it is over now. The Hardys aren't part of that, and if I thought they'd hurt you, I'd never let them near you. I swear that. I don't want you to go with them, not because I think they're bad people—I don't—but because you are my friend, and I don't want to lose you."

She wrapped her arms around him, and Joe watched, uncomfortable, knowing he shouldn't have heard any of that. Still, he might have been wrong about his brother. For one thing, that kid looked a lot like his father. For another—if that wasn't an act—then that kid didn't have any interest in tricking or using his family. He was afraid of them.

"I still want to go see if Carter was behind those thefts, though," Nancy said as she pulled back, getting an eye roll from Frank. "Please?"

"It's too dangerous."

"It'll be fine. Don't you trust me?"

"I shouldn't," Frank muttered, but Nancy smiled as she tugged him forward. Joe watched them for only a half-a-minute before following after them.

* * *

"See? I told you that Carter was behind this," Nancy said, smiling at Frank in triumph. He just shook his head, and she could tell he was still bothered by being out here with her. She knew he worried—he was scared about almost everything and had a right to be after what he'd been through—but she didn't want him hiding away in his room, which was all he'd done since dinner with his parents went so... wrong. She still didn't know what happened to set him off—none of them did—but he was up and out of the restaurant before anyone knew what was happening.

She shivered. She'd almost lost him again, and she couldn't stand that. She had to find a way to make things work with his family so that he wasn't so nervous all the time, always on edge and ready to bolt. He was in a dangerous place, so tense that he ran at the first chance he got, and that could get him hurt, taken again, or killed. He could have ran right into traffic he was in such a panic.

Something had to change, but she didn't know what. She was trying something wrong and crazy and maybe a little mean, exposing him to more danger in order to make him see that he didn't need to be scared of what his family was offering him or even of them, period.

Was it the brother that frightened him so much?

Oh, it _had_ to be. He thought that his brother was something they'd use against him, like the man who'd lied about being his father had done. That one had threatened Frank, made him do what he wanted by saying he'd kill the other children, and then he _had_ killed them. Frank had done everything he'd been told to do, no matter how horrible it was, and that monster had still killed the other kids he'd abducted. Of course Frank would think his real father was just using his brother and maybe even his mother to force that sort of thing again.

"We should go," Frank said, and she grimaced a little, wondering how much time she'd lost in thought just now. "You've got your proof, so let's just—"

"What do we have here?" A voice demanded, and Frank tensed, his body so stiff she thought he could be broken with the right push. She looked over at the man who'd spoken. That was not Carter. Frank had been right. The man had a partner, and he had them at gunpoint. "Looks like a couple of kids who don't know where to play."

"Yes," Nancy agreed. "We're lost, so you could just let us go on our way."

"Except that everyone knows who you are around here, Miss Drew. Your dad is famous, and so are you—for being a meddling brat. Guess we'll have to do something about that, now won't we?"

"Leave her alone," Frank said, stepping in between Nancy and the gunman, and she winced, not liking that side of him. He was noble, yes, but far too willing to take the punishment for things that were her fault.

"I don't have any kind of use for you," the man told him, dark eyes dismissing him even as his finger moved on the trigger, threatening to kill Frank here and now.


	10. Crisis and Confrontation

**Author's Note:** This is overdue, and I'm sorry. I've just been having a very hard time writing of late, and squeezing out a small snippet for Love in Subtle Clues was all I could manage. I want to do more; I'm just struggling badly.

This part is different from most because I have more present than past for a change. I thought about pushing the second scene back but this felt like the way to do it.

* * *

 **Crisis and Confrontation**

"You want to tell me what that was all about, Hardy?" Alexander asked, cornering Frank before he could reach his hotel room and shut everyone out. He'd been close, but she'd surprised him by choosing to come after him instead of going with Nancy. Maybe he shouldn't have been shocked—she didn't know Nancy and had no real reason to go to dinner with her. He'd just figured since she'd mentioned food she'd take Nancy up on the offer of dinner and leave him alone for the night.

That would have been easy, and things never were easy with him, were they?

"Nothing."

Alexander snorted. "Don't even try and pull that crap with me. We've worked together too long for you to get away with that. You don't fool me for a second, and all that happens when you try is that you annoy the hell out of me. You know that."

Frank did. She wasn't wrong about any of that. She might not know him as well as Joe or Nancy did, but she did know him. She might not have been his first partner in the agency, but she'd worked with him the longest, and when she got a team of her own, she had insisted he be a part of it. He had agreed, thinking it better than other options, but he might regret it now.

"I guess I was wrong. We can't work together."

Alexander shook her head. "Bull. That wasn't about work. That was personal, and you know it. You were working with her fine until that last house."

"Maybe I hit a saturation point."

"Or maybe you were fine until it started getting personal," Alexander countered. She folded her arms over her chest. "You've been off since our last case. It's not like I didn't notice, but as long as you were doing your job and keeping your little defensive act up only when McKay or Conners was around, I was willing to overlook it. You were handling it, but you're not now. What did you leave out of the official report?"

"What makes you think I left anything out?"

She rolled her eyes, leaning against the wall. "I know you. I might not know all about you, but I know enough. And I know that you wouldn't have told them everything in that mess. No one would."

"You saying you'd lie on an official report?" Frank countered. "Should I report you to someone, then?"

Alexander shook her head. "Changing the subject won't work. That's not even your best deflection tactic. You're reaching, and it's sad. It's also almost obvious—it's the girl, isn't?"

"Shouldn't you be saying something about her not being a girl and—" Frank stopped himself, shaking his head as he turned back to the door. One thing he did not want to do was have this conversation in the hallway. No one else needed to hear it, and he wasn't sure he'd put it past Nancy to have followed Alexander close enough to be listening from a distance. "Never mind. I'm not having this conversation here."

"You better not think you can walk away from it that easily."

He used his key on the door and pushed it open. "I didn't say that. I just don't want to discuss this in the hall. It's gone far enough already."

Alexander followed him into his room, shutting the door behind her. "Is that what this is about? You hate it when people see you in any way as vulnerable, which I get because, hello, _woman_ over here, but then you have always had higher walls than me. Now you've practically doubled them, and I can't let you deal with it on your own anymore. Mostly because you're _not_ dealing with it. You're just shoving it down so no one can see it, but this friend of yours... She's already seen too much and that's why you refused her invitation, why you won't go near anyone else that really knows you. What the hell happened to you?"

Frank bit back what he could have said. It was easier to ask what hadn't happened to him because he'd been through plenty in his life, most of it before he was twelve. He went to his bed and sat down. "I'm sure it's in the file. You can read it if you want."

She leaned against the wall, studying him. "I don't have to have every detail. I am more concerned with what's eating at you now, and despite the fact that your past was drug up in more than one way today, I'm thinking it's still what happened when he kidnapped you that's the main problem."

"I wasn't kidnapped."

Alexander snorted. "Yes, you were. You were taken from one location to another without your consent. Hell, without your knowledge. You were unconscious, right? He beaned you over the head and took you from somewhere you thought was safe—it's the damn federal building. It should have been safe. So that's gone, that cushion and sense of safety, but it's more than that. What did he really do when you were alone with him?"

Frank tried not to shudder, but that didn't work half as well as he'd hoped.

* * *

"What is going on with your brother?"

"Nice to hear from you, Joe. It's been a long time since we talked. So good to hear your voice. What are you up to these days? How is working for your father's agency? Any good cases? You still handsome as ever?"

Nancy grimaced. She supposed that she should have been a little more sociable and a little less focused, but Frank's behavior not only confused her, it hurt. She didn't understand what she had done to make him so upset with her, and she didn't see why he'd take it out on the others if he was mad at her. Alexander claimed not to know what was going on with him, so Nancy had gone direct to the next best source, as it were, since if anyone else knew what was up with Frank besides Frank himself, it was Joe.

"I'm sorry," Nancy said, running her fingers through her hair. "I guess pleasantries went right out of my head. I think they would have gone out of your head, too, if Frank had been around you and acted like he did."

Joe was quiet for a moment, and he sounded troubled with just two words. "How bad?"

"You tell me," Nancy said, leaning against her car. "Has something been going on with him for a while or is it just me? And if it is... What did I do? I know I've let some distance come between us over the years, but Frank seemed to want that, and while I didn't—I figured he needed it. He seemed bent on proving he'd gotten past needing me like he used to when we were kids, not that he didn't replace me with you years ago."

Joe snorted. "That's not how it works. We always had different roles with Frank, and you should know that by now. I'm his brother, sure. I'm protective of him, yes, but you were the one who reintroduced him to the world and helped him see that he could trust people. If not for you, he'd still be refusing to see us and acknowledge us as family."

That had Nancy wanting to snort. "Please. Like you would ever have allowed that. I seem to remember our first meeting was rather... dramatic."

He laughed. "True. It was. I'm still proud of that moment myself."

"You would be."

"You know—I've missed this," Joe admitted. Nancy winced, knowing what he was about to say. "Frank's not the only one you've let distance creep in on, you know. I barely talk to you anymore."

"Well, with that whole near miss thing you and Bess had, there was a bit of awkwardness in talking to you for a while. She got really upset every time your name was mentioned," Nancy reminded him. She wasn't sure of all the details, exactly what had passed between Joe and Bess, but while it had looked for a while like their mutual flirting was about to develop into something, it never materialized and the two of them ended up in a rather bad fight for almost two years. Only now was Bess more receptive to talk of Joe.

"It wasn't—well, okay, it _was_ that bad, but it was all a big misunderstanding anyway," Joe said, and she could tell he was uncomfortable with the subject. "We're good now, and that's what matters. Back to the whole Frank issue... Has he said anything about his last case?"

"No. What happened on it?"

"Not sure. He wouldn't talk about it, but he was in the hospital for at least one night afterward," Joe told her. "I pushed for details, got hung up on, and he's avoiding our parents' calls as well. That's not that new with Dad—he tries to convince Frank he should come back and work with him every time he talks to him, and Frank is pretty much dead set on _not_ doing it. I'd make him do it if I could—I'd rather have him for a partner and want him here where I can look out for him, but Frank..."

"Needs to be independent."

Joe scoffed at that. "It's not about independence. He's just... stubborn."

"Those are almost the same thing," Nancy told him, but she got the sense that there was more to all of this than anyone was saying. Frank wasn't admitting to his real reasons for staying away, Joe knew more he wasn't telling her, and given Fenton's fragile relationship with his son, it was strange he'd push when he knew how easily he could lose Frank altogether. As much as Frank had tried, he'd never quite gotten over the monster in his life claiming to be his father, and he'd never gotten as close to Fenton as he had Laura or Joe.

"It's not, but I'm not in the mood to argue about it."

"You haven't cracked any jokes," Nancy agreed. "Is it just what I asked about Frank or is something else wrong?"

Joe hesitated, and the silence stretched on, making Nancy uncomfortable. "Maybe."

* * *

 _Between Thirteen and Fourteen Years Earlier_

"You don't need to hurt us," Nancy began, trying to find a way to salvage the situation. She knew she would never forgive herself if anything happened to Frank. She'd sworn that she wouldn't let anyone hurt him again. He had been hurt too much already, and it wasn't like he hadn't warned her over and over again that this was a bad idea. She had been so sure she was right and they wouldn't get caught. She was so wrong. This was all her fault. "It's better if you don't."

"Oh, yeah, girlie? What makes you say that?"

"Well, so far, you're just a thief," Nancy began, and Frank looked at her like she was crazy. She knew that she might sound that way, since he could take that as an insult, but she had a reason for saying it. "You don't have to make yourself a murderer. Even if you get caught now, you're only facing a few years in prison and you could plea down from that, but if you kill a couple of kids..."

The man's finger twitched on the trigger. "You don't know that I'm not a killer, that I haven't gone to prison before."

Frank swallowed. "You hesitate, which makes you seem less of a killer, but you're right. We don't know. You could be anything."

The man's eyes went over Frank, who flinched under his gaze, probably wishing he hadn't said anything to him at all. "What is it you think I am, boy?"

Frank shivered, and Nancy hoped he wasn't about to have a full on panic attack. Not only was that terrible for him, but the man with the gun could get spooked and hurt him for it. "I hope you're a reasonable person who will accept it's not in his best interests to kill us."

"Why shouldn't I?" the man asked, gun jerking back toward Nancy even though Frank was still blocking most of her. "Do the world a favor getting rid of her, and chances are, you two are the only ones who know about this. That means it dies with you, and by the time you're found, I'll be long gone with my money."

Frank shook his head, a quick jerky motion that made Nancy think it wouldn't be long before he broke down. He was trying so hard to be brave, but he knew better than anyone how bad this guy could be, and while he hadn't threatened either of them with Frank's worst fear yet, he still could. "No, because... because I'm a federal witness and they won't stop hunting my killer. And... And my father is a famous detective, and he won't stop looking for you. He'll find you."

The man glared at Frank, going from scary to terrifying in seconds. He reached out and yanked Frank to him, knocking Nancy back as he did. He put the gun to Frank's head, bending it so far to the side his neck seemed close to breaking. "You seem to be a lot more trouble than she is, you know that? And if I wanted to get rid of her for that, why shouldn't I do the same with you?"

"I just told you," Frank whispered, and she could tell he was near to losing control, panic overwhelming him at being in that position again, gun to his head.

"Leave him alone," Nancy said, starting to her feet but stopping when she saw the man's finger on the trigger again. "He's... You don't have to hurt him. You don't have to hurt either of us. You can just let us go. We... we won't tell anyone."

That was a lie she hoped he'd believe because she knew herself better. She'd have to tell. She had to make sure these guys were arrested. Carter might be more harmless than this one, but that didn't mean much when he was willing to kill.

"I think I'll make sure of that. First you, then your boyfriend here," the man said, moving the gun down across Frank's face. Nancy swallowed, cursing herself for her stupidity and for allowing this to happen to Frank.

He pointed the gun at her, and she ducked just as it went off, pinging off the wall. She heard a groan and saw that someone—another boy—had knocked the man to the ground. Frank dragged himself out of the man's hold and over to the side, taking in deep breaths as he tried to calm himself. Nancy dove for the gun, grabbing it from where it had skidded after falling out of the thief's hand. She picked it up and held it in front of her, trained on the man on the ground.

"You okay?"

Nancy nodded to the boy's question before looking at Frank. "You?"

Frank wrapped his arms around himself and managed one nod before burying his face in his knees. He shuddered, and she would have gone to him if she wasn't afraid that the thief would get up if she didn't keep the gun on him.

"Who are you?" Nancy asked, addressing their rescuer. She knew she didn't know him from school, and while he was cute enough to be Bess' type, she hadn't told Nancy about any new boys lately, and it was almost possible that this kid was Carter's accomplice, too. "Why are you here?"

The boy's attention was on Frank even as he answered Nancy with a grand bow. "Joe Hardy, at your service."

Frank's head jerked up. "What?"

"And I think you know why I'm here," Joe added. "He's my brother."


	11. Progress

**Author's Note:** It is hard, I think, to find the balance between showing how things got to where they are and where they need to be and moving ahead. I feel a little like the time before Frank found his family was too short, that I didn't give enough detail there, and the same now with Joe a bit, but I am not sure how I would do that without dragging the whole thing down and making it a day to day epic that I know I couldn't finish if I tried.

To answer a guest question... I usually start a story with an idea of what I want to do and and few key points along its path, and then I let it develop itself as I go along because I can't follow timelines and characters make their own decisions on where to go, not me, and all timelines do is frustrate me when I can't follow them. So that does leave me open to "oh, crap, how do I get this done because I have no idea now" moments. A lot.

Also, I will take this opportunity to thank all guests and readers for their reviews and support and time, even those I can't respond or who are more lurker types like me.

Oh, and yes... I am not a lawyer and am probably wrong about Carson's assessment. I just... liked the dramatic effect?

* * *

 **Progress**

"Something wrong?"

Joe wasn't sure what had given him away so fast, but then he was dealing with his mother, and somehow moms just knew these things. He must have given some small sign of something back when he walked into the room, and that was enough. Laura knew something was up, and he didn't see a point in denying it. He sat down in the nearest chair, sprawling out as he did.

His mother set down her papers—must have been time to do Dad's reports again, and he always left them a mess—and looked at him. "Well?"

"Just got off the phone with Nancy."

"And?"

He snorted. "And Frank is being... well, it sounds like he's just being himself, but since being a jerk is what passes for him being him these days, Nancy's upset by it and worried about him."

Laura sighed, taking off her reading glasses and pinching the bridge of her nose. "It's a defense mechanism, and we all know it. If it wasn't, we'd be a lot angrier with him, but we're not. I wish he'd drop the walls and let us in, but he hasn't done that since he was twelve, so that hope is in vain."

Joe shook his head. "Not true. It's not like... I'm pretty sure this is just because of whatever happened with that last case. Frank might have been a little distant before, but not like this. I understood him needing to do his own thing for a while, but it's not even about that anymore. That damn shrink I decked was right—Frank is running."

Laura sighed. "He might be, but that just means that he will need us more when he stops."

 _"If_ he stops," Joe muttered, and his mother gave him a look. He shook his head. Frank's need to distance himself seemed to be getting worse, not better, and it should have been better by now, since he'd had his chance to prove he was independence—if that was what he was doing. Joe didn't even know. Sometimes he thought the two of them were closer than most brothers, especially since they'd been separated for the first part of their lives, but the rest of the time, he thought they were almost strangers.

He hated that, too.

"Why wouldn't he stop?" Laura said. "In the end, he will see he's safer at home, and that is what he actually wants."

"In a word? Nancy."

Laura blinked. "What does this have to do with Nancy?"

"Sometimes I don't see how someone who is supposed to be one of the best detectives in the world can still miss the obvious right in front of her face," Joe grumbled. His mother's expression darkened, and he shook his head. "I meant her, Mom. How is it that she is the _only_ one who doesn't know that Frank has been in love with her since we were kids? I know. You know. Her friends Bess and George know. Even that Ned guy knows. I don't see how it's possible that she doesn't actually know."

Laura took a breath and let it out before speaking. "Your brother's feelings for Nancy have always confused and conflicted him. Even he won't say he's actually in love with her. I think she thinks it's just a residual part of his early dependence on her and won't risk damaging their friendship for the idea of more, especially since Frank doesn't... date. He hasn't really shown anyone that he wants that."

"Because he's hung up on Nancy and knows he wouldn't care about anyone else like he does her. He told me as much when Callie was really pursuing him. That... and he was a little terrified of the idea of being with anyone after what those sickos did to him."

"That doesn't change that he never told Nancy any of that. She holds to what they were instead of risking more and pushing him away, which is all too easy to do."

Joe grunted. "Like she didn't push him far enough away when she accepted Ned's proposal. That pretty much sealed the deal there, and Frank will _never_ let her close again, not now."

* * *

 _Between Thirteen and Fourteen Years Earlier_

"I told you—I don't want to see you," Frank said, arms folded over his chest. Nancy was off getting a lecture from her father about getting both of them into trouble again, and he knew the Hardys were downstairs, having come here in a panic—though whether that was because Joe had snuck out or because they'd been told about what Nancy and Frank got into was debatable. Frank didn't know that he cared. He just knew he didn't want to be around anyone right now.

"And I told you that I don't accept that as an answer," Joe said, not leaving the room. Frank had tried pushing him out, but the other boy was a lot more muscular than he was, and he hadn't won that fight, not that he ever won fights. He should look into self-defense classes. He never wanted to be hurt again, so he needed them and maybe a lot more than just them. "You're my brother. I'm staying."

"I'm not anything to you or anyone else," Frank said. "Just leave me alone."

Joe shook his head. "Nope. See, I thought maybe you were some kind of scam artist, preying on Mom and Dad because you wouldn't believe what they went through thinking you were dead, but you're not. And I just have to look at you to know that you're Dad's son. It's so obvious. You even have the same frown."

Frank realized he was frowning and stopped, even as he had to struggle to keep himself from shuddering. He did not want to be like his father. Not ever. That man was sick, and it was so hard, even if Fenton Hardy was his biological father, to think of anyone as that person besides the monster who had used him and encouraged others to do the same.

"You look like you're going to puke."

"I might. So go away."

"No."

"What is _wrong_ with you? Why would you even _want_ to be here?" Frank demanded. "It's not fun. I'm not—I'm not interesting and if you knew the kinds of things I did—"

Joe frowned. "Tell me you don't actually blame yourself for some guy hurting you. That's messed up. That was what he did wrong, not you."

Frank snorted. "Did they really tell you what he did? Because I don't think you'd say that if you knew, really knew, what it was. I'll give you a hint, though. He used whore instead of my name."

Joe stared at him. "That is—"

"Go away."

"No," Joe said. "That's still _his_ malfunction, not yours. Dude, guys that like kids are really sick, and that's not something you did wrong. That's all in his warped sickness. He's the freak. You're just... Well, you're the victim, but that still makes him the one who was wrong."

Frank lowered his head. "I'm the one who feels sick about it, though. He... He didn't. He enjoyed what he did to me. He got others to do it, too. I lost track of how many there were, but he filmed it and them and..."

He stopped when Joe hugged him, tense and unsure how to react to this. None of the kids he'd known before Nancy ever hugged him, not even in the worst of it. He wouldn't have tried to touch them after what had happened to him and them, and it wasn't any kind of comfort if the kids were ones his father made do things to him or him to them. No, he didn't hug other kids, and they didn't hug him. Nancy's friends didn't, either.

"Let go."

"Fat chance. That's not what brothers do."

* * *

"They are adorable," Nancy told Bess and George, who snorted, but Bess sighed in agreement. Joe had managed to get closer to Frank than most people had faster than everyone else had. He'd just refused to let Frank push him away or avoid him, to the point where Frank just ended up rolling his eyes or sighing and letting his brother stay because he couldn't fight it.

"You'd almost think they had known each other their entire lives," Bess agreed as the boys bickered over how to put together the puzzle Hannah had given Frank. At first, the younger Hardy hadn't been that interested in it, but as Frank worked on it and ignored his brother, the other boy had joined in and started trying to take it over. "Even though they argue, they're even... teasing. I didn't think Frank was capable of that with anyone but you, Nancy, and only barely that."

"Joe does make Frank act a little more... normal," George said, and Nancy frowned at her. She didn't think there was anything wrong with Frank. Wrong would have been if he'd come out of the abuse without any sign of it, but he hadn't. He still suffered, though his panic attacks were rarer now and he was opening up to others after knowing them for long enough.

"Frank isn't a freak."

George grimaced. "You know that's not what I meant. It's just hard to relate to Frank because we haven't gone through what he has—"

"Thank goodness," Bess said with a shudder.

"And so we can't know what will upset him or not, which is a little difficult for all of us. Joe doesn't seem bothered by it the same way we are, so he just blazes ahead, and it's working so far—he's gotten closer to Frank than I would have thought," George finished. "It's not bad. It just makes me feel a little less like I have to be super careful about what I say or do. Joe's already hit the triggers and paved a path in some respects. Or he seems to be capable of smoothing things over after he does in a way we never managed."

"Must be a guy thing," Bess said. She gave Joe another look. "He is kind of cute, isn't he?"

Her cousin shook her head. "Don't start."

Nancy almost missed the last part of the conversation, distracted as she was. She had thought Joe's impact on Frank was positive—Joe insisted on being a part of his brother's life in a way that Frank's parents couldn't, and it did seem to help Frank over a lot of the hurdles he had with his family and people in general—but now she realized that positive could be a bad thing as well. Not that she didn't want Frank to be happy and to recover from all that happened to him, but if he did accept his family and did get close to them... He'd leave with them. They weren't going to stay here.

She'd lose him.

"Nancy, you okay over there?"

She nodded, feeling numb. "Yeah. Fine."

"I know what it is," Bess said, her voice taking on a teasing tone. "Nancy was daydreaming about Frank. She thinks _he's_ cute."

Nancy's face flamed red as her hair. "I do not. It's not like that with me and Frank. He's—He's just a friend, that's all. Don't go teasing him about this, either. That could set him back so much—he was—that guy was going to try and force him to do things to me, so just don't even mention it, okay?"

Bess looked at George. George just shrugged.

* * *

"I think he's come a long way," Carson admitted, standing with Fenton and Laura as the kids debated what to do with the day. The weather was good, and Joe was pushing for football, but only George seemed willing to take him up on that so far. Frank seemed unsettled by the idea, and Fenton seemed unable to understand a kid of his not wanting to be involved in sports. Carson had heard that Joe was interested in all of them and on several teams, but if Frank had any kind of experience with sports, it wasn't good. "Joe seems to be helping that along a lot faster than what we've managed."

Fenton nodded. "I'd hoped it would help, but this is more than I expected."

Laura shook her head. "I don't know that it would have been possible without the groundwork you and your daughter started. It may have been slower before, but that doesn't mean it wasn't necessary. If Frank hadn't had this time to trust you and her, we'd still be at square one."

"We owe you more than we can ever repay," Fenton agreed. "And Nancy as well."

Carson shook his head. He wasn't interested in repayment. Frank wasn't a burden, and Carson himself was fond of the kid. He wasn't sure he could quite call him son, but he was the closest Carson had to one, and he would miss Frank if the boy chose to go with his parents back to New York. "Your son deserved much better than he grew up with, and if I had any part in fixing that, I'm glad. Nancy always wants to help, especially with mysteries, and she cares about Frank. It's not a hardship. It's something we're glad to do."

Fenton nodded, though when he looked back at Frank, he seemed tense. "Did you hear anything new about the trial?"

Carson grimaced. "Several of the trials are coming up fast. He's got about a week before he needs to testify in some of the smaller ones, but the hardest one will be that bastard who called himself Frank's father. He's not up for another month or so, but that will be difficult for him."

"And the custody issue?"

"No word," Carson said. "The extension should have been given or a new trial date set by the end of this week. Without that..."

Laura winced. "Please tell me we have legal rights and can do something about this before social services puts him in a group home. He's... He is not ready for that."

Carson had been hoping to avoid this, but now that the question was raised, it had to be answered. "I want to say it will be fine and of course you do, but the situation is more complicated than that, and it is possible that because of what happened, you might not be able to get custody of Frank before the state takes control of his care."

Fenton swore.


	12. Talks and Trials

**Author's Note:** I got a little tripped up by Frank. He was supposed to talk about what happened on the case, but I couldn't get him to do it, and so it didn't happen yet. It will come eventually. And then Joe didn't get in all of what he needed to say, either.

At least it is an update. I haven't managed much of that lately.

* * *

 **Talks and Trials**

"Tell me."

Frank looked down at his hands, not able to face Alexander when he spoke. He should be able to, shouldn't be this weak, but he knew if he looked at her, he'd never say it, never manage a word. Joe might have been able to get it out of him if he was here—Frank was glad he wasn't—and Nancy would have, back in the early days, but with Alexander, it was different.

He didn't want to see pity. Joe never showed that. He just got angry. Nancy always hugged him so he didn't see her face much when he told her about anything from before she found him. At least... That was how it was when they were younger. Now he didn't know what she'd do. He didn't think he'd want her touching him, and he knew she had someone who would _not_ want her hugging him at all.

"Frank."

He swallowed, trying to find the right way to say what he needed to say without going into more detail than was absolutely necessary. "I think—"

His phone rang, and Alexander cursed as he reached for it and took the call. He knew that tone, and he would have to thank Joe for his timing as much as he wanted to do some cursing of his own—he had a feeling he knew exactly why his brother was calling now and who he'd just been on the phone with—it wasn't hard to figure.

"Joe."

"Sometimes I wonder if it would be worth trying to block caller ID or if I would always get that reaction out of you when I called," Joe said. Frank rolled his eyes, used to his brother's teasing, since Joe didn't seem to know how to interact with anyone without a bit of teasing—or flirting, in the case of the female population.

"You'd always get that reaction," Frank told him. "I'd ask what you wanted, but since you obviously called because Nancy called you, I'll save you a few steps—I'm fine, I don't want to talk about it or her, and no, I won't be home for a while."

Alexander gave him a look for the word home, but the thing was—the Hardys had always assured him that he had a home with them no matter what, and he wouldn't call his latest rental much of a home. The Hardy house was the only place he'd consider much of a home, since he was still adjusting to the idea of having one when he had to leave the Drews, but his biological family had made a place for him even when he didn't think he wanted it, and they kept it for him. He didn't doubt that, even if he didn't deserve it.

"Yeah, I figured all of that," Joe said. "Look, she was concerned, and you know she's not the only one. You're lucky I'm neck deep in a nightmare of a case and can't jump on the first plane out there."

"You are my _younger_ brother. I don't need your protection," Frank said, his patience wearing out quickly. "Do not get on a plane. I don't care what she told you. She's wrong. You... You know why I'm really upset with her, so just... leave it alone. I don't want to rehash any of that. I had thought it would just... go away, but the damned thing won't quit."

"That's love for you," Joe told him, and Frank snorted.

"Like you have any idea what that is."

Joe was quiet for a minute. "You know, that's low even for you at your most defensive. I almost want the you that jumped at every shadow back. He was a hell of a lot nicer."

"Screw you. I am _never_ going back to being that helpless. Never."

"I know." Joe let out a breath. "Look, leaving aside who called and why and that mess you still won't deal with, something came in the mail that I think we should talk about—"

"If it's an invitation to the wedding, we have nothing to discuss and I'm going to hang up on you now," Frank told him, his finger moving toward the button.

"Wait. Fine, no mail even if it's not about the wedding. Just... Let me pick your brain about this case, and I swear I'll leave you alone. It's just... it's eating Dad alive, and I'm not much better."

"Joe—"

"It's about a kid. Went missing three weeks ago. Police and organized local searches haven't found anything. You know how it is—you know the statistics on child abductions better than anyone—"

"I lived them," Frank said, feeling sick. He'd been the one who'd lived past that small window, those first precious hours law enforcement had to find an abducted child alive, but he'd also watched others lose to that window, not surviving more than a day or so in the hands of the men who'd held him.

"So you know why it's messing Dad up. He's got himself convinced he has to save this kid, and I'm not sure we can, but I want to just as desperately—if you'd seen those parents..."

Frank shook his head. "I don't know what you expect me to do. I can't make this kid appear out of thin air. I'm halfway across the country, and even if I wasn't, this isn't—"

"Give me something. Something we've probably overlooked but you in your big picture way have already thought of. Some technological magic that you're good at and Dad and I forget to think of because we're just not on your level with computers."

Frank ran a hand through his hair. "Fine. This is... If this kid is alive, he's likely the victim of someone who has a... preference. Someone who is going to keep him around for a while. So you'd want to take a look at registered offenders with the same victim profile. Cross-reference the registry with the area and get a sense of who might have been prowling and come across him. It's still possible he was taken by someone he knows, which... can be worse, but how you'd prove that and haven't already looked at that angle or the other one, I don't know."

"I'm sure that the registry got checked, but maybe if we expanded that search—"

"If I create the algorithm for you, will you drop any idea of coming out here or pressing whatever agenda Dad or Nancy has?"

"Maybe."

That was as good as it got from Joe, so Frank took it, getting ready to get off the phone even as he started for his laptop. "I'll pass along the results as soon as I get them."

He put the phone down after ending the call, taking out the computer. Alexander folded her arms over her chest. "You had better not be using federal resources for—"

"Relax. I wouldn't give him anything he doesn't have clearance for, and this is actually the kind of search anyone could run in their sleep—if my dad and brother weren't as technologically challenged as they are. Sometimes I think Joe just fakes it—laziness or to charm someone into helping him—but Dad is pretty terrible."

Alexander eased her posture ever so slightly. "Don't think you've gotten off the hook. You're not."

Frank pulled up his code, modifying a search program he'd more or less perfected a few years back and kept updated for this sort of thing. "Of course not. It never is that easy."

She crossed over and put her hand on the laptop, almost closing it. "I mean it. You can't avoid this forever, and while your brother isn't here to push, your friend—if we can call her that—isn't going to, much as she might want to, I'm here, and I'm damn well gonna because I won't let you get away with this. Not after hearing you with your brother."

Frank finished the changes, setting the program going before easing the laptop out of her hands. "I shouldn't have said that—it's not like he didn't have Iola."

Alexander nodded. "Which is just one of the reasons I know something's up with you. Now out with it before I have to resort to measures you really won't like."

He folded his hands together in his lap, studying them. "He didn't take me because of the case."

"What?"

* * *

 _Between Thirteen and Fourteen Years Earlier_

"I want to discuss your testimony with you again."

Frank shook his head. He didn't want to do this. He had been doing nothing but rehearsing that for days now, since the trial was in a few days. They kept asking him the same questions, and some of them made him want to hurt them. Fenton had to drag Joe out of the room, and his brother got banned from any of the future sessions. His mother was close to that herself, since all she did when she was sitting in on them was glare at the attorneys. Fenton had excused himself, and Frank had seen his knuckles later—he'd torn up the skin like he'd hit lots of things hard—and so it was just him with his lawyer now—Nancy's dad. Carson hadn't left him alone, but Frank still didn't want to be here.

"I don't want to talk about it again."

"Frank, we have to have it clear and—"

"It is so clear to me that I want to puke all over you because you are making me remember things that make me sick—they did when those men did them to me and they do when I'm remembering them and I am _sick_ of you and your questions. I won't answer another one. Go away." Frank didn't care if Michealson was a big time attorney, one who had lots of attorneys under him and prosecuted all sorts of federal criminals. He just wanted the man to go away.

This one didn't touch him, but he made Frank feel dirty anyway, going over all of that sickness again, over and over. Maybe he liked it, secretly enjoying all the twisted things that those men had done to Frank. Maybe he'd sit at home with the videos from evidence and watch them until he'd memorized them, and he wouldn't do it for the case but because he was one of the ones that liked it.

"You know that this case is extremely important," Michealson said, huffing and making his mustache hairs stick up some. "We need this testimony to tie it all together. To get these men put away for a long time, we need everything to be perfect and—"

"Perfect?" Frank demanded. "How can anything involving what they did to me be perfect? It was... Just leave me alone."

"You're going to have to leave," Carson said. "I don't think you want to add him as a hostile witness. Just let him have some time. This is difficult for him."

Michealson adjusted his glasses. "I understand that, but we have to do this to see to it that he stays safe. He does understand that, doesn't he?"

"I'm still right here, and I'm not stupid," Frank said. He lowered his head and tried to prepare himself for being hit. He never would have said that to the man who'd called himself his father, but then he always made Frank hurt for any kind of back talk.

"Go," Carson repeated, escorting the other man to the door. He closed it, but Frank wasn't all that relieved when he did. Nancy's father turned back to him and sighed. "Frank, there is something we have to discuss—I'm starting to think that your reaction to their trial preparations is part of why they haven't renewed my custody of you."

Frank frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I mean that the custody arrangement ends soon, but they haven't let me know I'll continue to be your guardian for another few months, not this time. This could mean they intend to take you from the house."

"I don't—The Hardys are supposedly my parents, aren't they? So that means I'll get forced to go with them, doesn't it?" Frank asked, rubbing his head. "If they're my parents, I have to, don't I?"

"Not necessarily. They might still make you a ward of the court."

"No."

Carson sighed. "I am fighting to keep that from happening, but I don't think it helps that Michealson thinks you're not cooperating with him."

"I am, though," Frank said, starting to panic. "I have been. It's just he keeps asking the same question again and again, and I already answered it. It makes me so sick, but I answer it. I do. I am tired of feeling so... dirty. Why can't I just say it once? Why do I have to repeat those things? He... He doesn't understand."

"He is too focused on what he needs from this case and not aware enough of what it is costing you to speak of it," Carson said, and he gave Frank a look that seemed like pity. He should be glad it was pity and not... something else, not that look those men used to give him, but he still hated the pity. "We have a break now. You should go take some time. I think you might want to check in with your family as they are all worried about you—"

"They wouldn't be if that jerk wasn't here, and I don't—why bother calling them my family if the courts don't agree?" Frank asked. He shook his head. "I had no one before, and I still have no one. Just leave me alone."

* * *

"I think I liked him better when he was shy," Bess said, and Joe frowned at her. She shook her head. "He would never have said anything like that when Nancy first found him, but that little outburst he just had? That's new. Ugly and mean and not much like the kid we first met."

Joe shrugged, leaning against the wall. "You have to figure Frank's got a lot of anger built up over the years. He never had a chance to let it out because that guy would hurt him if he did, but he's got every right to be angry. To be _pissed._ He got stolen from his family, was abused in sick, horrible ways, and he has to relive them all for trial after trial after trial. There's at least ten of these guys he has to testify against. That's so wrong I can't even... I just want to hurt them all."

"That doesn't make it better."

"You don't think it's right that _they_ pay a little? Look at what they did to my brother. He's so messed up by this that people think it's wrong if he's angry. That's not right. Frank didn't deserve any of that. He was just a baby when they stole him from my parents. And my parents... Man, they got messed up good by it, too. My mom used to tear up at the mention of Frank's name. It caused her pain every day. And now she's got him back alive, and that should be like a miracle but it's a nightmare. I like having a brother, don't get me wrong, but I'm angry about the whole thing, too."

"You're cute when you're protective of him."

Joe grinned. "I'm _always_ cute."

"Zero to flirt in nothing flat," George muttered, shaking her head as she passed by them. He rolled his eyes. So his charm didn't work on her. He didn't care. Bess was more his kind of girl anyway. Not that he didn't think George's athleticism was cool, but it was easier to get along with Bess.

"In which case we can leave them alone and go back to the investigation," Nancy said. George gave her a look, and she shrugged. "Well, I would ask Frank, but he's not talking to anyone because of the lawyer's stupidity, so I need help."

"Hey, I can help," Joe began, and everyone looked at him. He almost laughed. "You know my dad's a famous detective, right? It's in my blood. I do a little investigating of my own now and then. Or did you forget who rescued you and Frank from that art thief turned killer?"

Nancy grimaced. "No, I didn't forget. I'm just not used to having you to ask. You can come if you want. I wish Frank would—it would distract him and I love the way he looks at the bigger picture. He always finds some piece I'm missing."

Joe nodded. He'd noticed that habit of his brother's, too, even when they weren't talking about cases. It actually drove him a little crazy because how was Frank so good at big picture after so many years of being denied access to the outside world? That didn't make sense.

"I bet between you and me, we could coax Frank out for a case," Joe told Nancy, who smiled back at him even as her friends groaned. It was true, though. Frank might have been able to say no to one of them, but not both of them.

This was going to be good.

It _had_ to be. Joe wasn't going to accept anything else, especially not when social services was threatening to take his brother away.


	13. Difficult Testimony

**Author's Note:** So this was very hard to write. Frank didn't want to tell the future part and the past part was hard as well and... It was just difficult.

* * *

 **Difficult Testimony**

"He didn't take me because of the case."

"That's what you said, but that doesn't make sense," Alexander told him. She frowned, and he didn't see pity. He saw worry and maybe a little fear. "What are you getting at? And don't—just tell me so my mind stops racing with the thoughts I'm thinking."

"I mean—he did because that's how I got his attention again, but he was aware of me long before I was involved in his case," Frank said, twisting his hands together. He had to be careful or he would rub them raw. It had happened before, and he didn't want to do it again. That hurt too much. "I... He... I'd never actually met one of the customers before."

Alexander knelt so that she could meet his eyes. "What customers?"

He wanted to run from the room, get far away from this place and those questions and all of it. "I never met any of the ones that purchased his videos. Not until Dunn. Not until he had me. I didn't... It was different with the men he made a part of it, the ones that were in the films. This one... he just bought them. I suppose I always knew that people like him existed, but being faced with one..."

She swore, and Frank's head jerked up when she did, not used to that from her. She could cuss up a storm, worse than a sailor, even, but she only did it when she lost her temper. Most of the time, she kept that to herself and only let a few words slip here and there. "That bastard was into kiddie porn?"

Frank swallowed down the lump in his throat, only managing to nod. Dunn had a collection he'd bragged about, supposedly every film Frank had ever been in, as horrifying as that thought was.

 _"At first I couldn't believe it. It was like some sort of dream, but there you were," Dunn said as he leaned into Frank's face. "The boy. The one I could not stop watching. I had to have them all. Every little scrap of film I could get my hands on. You were something to see. So talented at such a young age. Like you were meant to fulfill man's darkest fantasies."_

 _Frank choked down vomit, not sure if that was the concussion or not. "None of that was real. You know that. And it's not a fantasy. It's a perversion. You're sick."_

 _"You want them not to be real," Dunn said, tracing a finger along Frank's side. "The one where you got this scar is a favorite of mine."_

 _Frank twisted in the bonds, managing to angle himself enough to elbow Dunn in the face. Enraged, Dunn snarled and hit Frank in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him. Gasping for breath, he shuddered, knowing he could easily lose this fight as he had so many others._

"He... he made you watch it, didn't he?" Alexander asked, her voice growing stronger with her conviction. "That sick psycho forced you to watch them. That was what was on that damn broken screen."

Frank nodded. "He kept talking about how... talented I was, how good it would be to reenact that video just me and him. I don't remember what I said back to him, but it pissed him off and he hit me hard enough for me to lose consciousness again. I... He was set to start up again when I woke, but you got there before he did much besides beat on me."

"Hell, Hardy, that's got to be, what, your worst nightmare? And you didn't say a word about it, just tried to pretend it never happened. You know it doesn't work like that. You can't bury this crap. It's been eating at you for weeks, and not even because he was sick and almost violated you. You're afraid of everyone knowing he was going to, that he had those videos. That he took you for... sex and not because your brain is brilliant and was able to connect him to that racketeering case."

Frank shook his head. "I am not that kid anymore. I am not that boy that can't fight back, the one that has to do what he says or he'll kill someone. That is all over. I... I am not just that freaked out scared victim... I am... I stopped him. This time I stopped it. I could, and I did, and I won't ever let it happen again."

She sighed. "Realistically, you can't know that. None of us can. It's not about physical strength or even determination. I'm one hell of a fighter, but I know it can still happen to me. Hasn't, but that bust back in August proves I'm not invulnerable. That one could have killed me. Could have done other things to me first. I'm aware of that."

"It's not supposed to be like this," Frank ground out. "It was supposed to end years ago. It... never did. Never does. It won't stop, damn it. It just... won't quit."

* * *

 _Thirteen Years Earlier_

"You look so handsome," Laura said, patting Frank's cheek, and he grimaced. Handsome was better than a lot of words those men had used, but he didn't like it all the same. She'd been fussing over him all day, straightening his suit and his hair, and Joe just rolled his eyes like he was used to that, but Frank wasn't. He wanted her to stop. He wasn't dressed up for a party or... a date—he almost shuddered at that idea—and he didn't think he cared what he looked like for the trial.

He wished they were all over with, but he still had to face the worst of them. The man that had pretended to be Frank's father was going to be there this time, and he didn't want to do this. He just wanted to find somewhere to hide for the rest of his life.

Nancy reached over and took his hand. "We may not be able to be right up there with you while you're testifying, but we're all here for you. We won't leave you. You'll be okay."

He nodded, though he just wished this whole thing was over. Fenton knelt next to him, looking in his eyes. "I think any one of us would be willing to hurt him for what he did to you. I'm not saying that because we will, but you just remember—he was the one who did wrong. He was never your family, and he can't change how any of us feel about you. This family... This family loves you."

Frank swallowed, feeling sick. "I... I don't think I can do this."

Nancy's father grimaced. "I wish they would have gone for a prerecorded testimony. This shouldn't have to happen like this. Look, Frank, just concentrate on the fact that this is the last one. The worst one, but the last. You won't have to go over this again. You take that stand, tell them what he did, and get him locked away for the rest of his life so he can't hurt you again."

Frank tried to nod, and then everyone was hugging him—his family and Nancy—and he felt squished. He pulled away from them, needing air before they called him into the courtroom.

"Frank Hardy," the bailiff called, and he jerked. He knew that was supposed to be his name, but it was still strange to have people use it. He wasn't sure if that would ever change. He didn't feel like he belonged to the Hardys, despite what everyone said, and he knew that even if they claimed him—and he didn't understand why they had—he hadn't quite claimed them back.

He followed the bailiff into the courtroom, walking up the aisle. He thought he saw one of the men from the videos in the back, and he turned away from him, not wanting to stare or panic. He just had to get this over with, and he would.

"Hello, whore," his father—not his father, not his father—said, and Frank stared at him. He smirked back, and the deputy had to prod Frank forward again. He went up to the stand with that man's eyes on him, and when he sat down, the smirk was still there.

He was going to be sick.

"Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?"

Frank nodded, croaking out a yes that had the smirk getting bigger while the lawyers frowned at him. Michealson rose, folding his suit jacket over his stomach as he did. "Frank, can you tell us about the defendant? How you know him?"

Frank gagged. He knew that man in ways he never wanted to know anyone. "I know him because he... I... He said he was my father."

"So this man claimed he was your father. A father is supposed to provide for his children. Food, shelter, clothing, a safe home. What sort of things did this man give you?"

Frank shook his head. "He never... gave me anything. If I wanted food, I had to earn it. I had to... I had to... do things for it... to..."

"What things did you do for your food?"

Frank saw his father lean back in his chair, smug. He seemed to be enjoying this, and Frank didn't understand why he would do that unless—no. No, it couldn't be. He couldn't really think that he would get away with it, did he? That look said yes. He did. He thought he was going to go free. Then he'd get Frank again and hurt him all over again. He would. He'd do it.

"Frank, what things did you have to do for your food?"

"Why are you doing this?" Frank asked Michealson, shaking his head as he did. "Why are you making me do this? Why are you... You're working with him, aren't you? That's why he's over there gloating because he knows he'll get free. He'll be able to hurt me again... You're all involved in it, aren't you? This is just the worst of his movies because he has so many people in it, so many people he... He made me think I could trust them again, but it's just his sick game and now he's going to let all those men have me... I don't want to do this. I..."

"Frank, you have to calm down," Michealson began. "You're here to make sure that does not happen. You need to tell us about the things he did so that we can keep him from doing them again. You have to tell the court what happened. Start with what he made you do. How often would he withhold food from you and what did you have to do to get it?"

Frank lowered his head. "I didn't eat unless I... There had to be at least one movie done before he'd let me eat, and if he did... I didn't... I didn't want to eat after having a man... do that to me. I... I don't... I can't..."

"What were these movies?"

"You know what they were. Stop asking me that. Stop pretending you're not a part of what he's doing. Look at him! He's over there enjoying himself. He knows he'll get free. He knows I... He's just going to hurt me. I don't want to play this game. This part. I'm not doing it. Not again. I won't believe him... I... I won't do it. Just stop."

Michealson came toward him, and Frank jumped up in the seat. "No! Just because I said I wouldn't play along—don't touch me! Just leave me alone!"

The judge was banging his gavel, and someone tried to grab him, one of the deputies, and Frank screamed, not wanting it to happen but knowing that it would.

"Frank!" Nancy and Joe had broken through the lines, both of them jumping the rails and running toward him, Nancy's skirt flying up when she did. He tried to get out of the hold he was in, but the man had him too tight and he couldn't fight again. He knew what would happen. He shouldn't have trusted anyone.

"Let him go! He's scared. Just let him go," Nancy said as Joe gave the same words as a threat.

"Let my brother go or I'm going to hit you myself. You're freaking him out."

"Please just let us help him," Laura said, her approach slower, blocked by some of the other deputies. "We can get him calm again, but you're hurting him and scaring him all over again. This isn't necessary."

Frank shoved at the deputy. "I'm not doing it again. Not again. Not ever."

"You won't have to," Joe promised. "I won't let anyone near you again. He's not getting out. You hear me? He's not getting free. He will never hurt you again."

"We're not part of any of his movies," Nancy insisted. She shuddered. "We'd never do that. Not to you. Not to ourselves. I promised no one would ever hurt you again. I meant that."

Frank didn't believe any of it. He knew it was stupid, that he must seem like some big baby, but he buried his head and let the tears come, knowing that bastard was still gloating on the other side of the room.

* * *

"Someone explain to me what the hell just happened in my courtroom," the judge said, his gaze going to each lawyer in turn. Carson shot Michealson a glance, but the man was so busy being pissed he wasn't even coming up with appropriate damage control. "Now."

"The kid panicked. He flipped out on the stand despite preparation and—"

"The defendant spoke to him before he took the stand. Whatever he said set Frank off," Carson said, since he had not missed that part. He'd been the only one in their group inside before the testimony was supposed to begin, the others waiting with Frank in the hall, but that just meant he was in place to see Frank's reaction to seeing his tormenter again.

"My client did not do anything to the kid."

"Bull," Carson said, glaring at the defense attorney. He turned his attention to the judge. "Respectfully, sir, I think a motion should have been made to allow Frank to testify without having the defendant in the courtroom. I also advised delaying this testimony—"

"My client has a right to a speedy trial—"

"He does, and he would still have gotten it if Frank was allowed more time in between the other trials and this one as well as settling the custody matter he's now embroiled in before he testified. He's gone from one trial to another, all the while not knowing where he will be after tomorrow since the state seems unwilling to acknowledge his family's claim to him. He went up there under the stress of having to relive his nightmare again in testimony while believing social services would take him away when it was done—and that act by the defendant pushed him right over the edge, convincing him that this was yet another of those staged movies where he would be abused on film by multiple men. You brought this on yourself, Michealson, pushing as hard as you did, and as for your client—he knew exactly what he was doing when he spoke to Frank and kept baiting him during the testimony."

"He didn't touch the kid," the defense attorney said. "Your allegation is ridiculous."

"He didn't have to touch him," Carson said. "That man spent years psychologically conditioning the boy to be right where he wanted him with two words and damn smile."

"Are you suggesting there was misconduct in this case and we have to declare a mistrial?" Judge Harrison asked. Both attorneys started to protest, but he raised a hand to silence them. "Do you?"

Carson grimaced. "I don't want a mistrial, but I don't agree with how this was handled or the conduct of the defendant. I think it was done deliberately, as he had every reason to discredit the main witness against him. Frank's testimony puts him away for life, but if he makes Frank seem too unstable to testify, then the case falls apart which is exactly what they want."

"In your opinion, is the boy stable enough to testify?"

Carson didn't want to answer that. Right now, Frank wasn't, and it would take a while to get him back to where he could. "Frank is an intelligent child, but he has been traumatized. He does know what happened to him and what he witnessed and can relate those things. He will need time, and I think a closed courtroom would be better for him, but he can testify—if he's not pressured and provoked as he was today."

"I would like to see the child if he's calm," the judge said. "I'll make a decision about how to proceed after I've spoken to him. If I find any evidence of misconduct, though, I will declare a mistrial."

Carson wasn't sure which was worse, a mistrial or trying to finish this one, but he nodded. "I will get Frank to talk to you."

He exited the chambers, coming face-to-face with a very worried Laura Hardy. "What's wrong?"

"It's... Frank... He... He was only alone for a second, I swear, but..."

"But?"

"He's gone."


	14. Unpleasant Discoveries

**Author's Note:** I really should never have started this story. Poor Frank. What has happened to him here... Yeah, shouldn't have written this one.

I did think that Frank needed to see this part of Fenton, but... still shouldn't have written the story.

* * *

 **Unpleasant Discoveries**

Nancy tapped her fingers on the table, trying to decide what she was going to do. A part of her was tempted to go over to Frank's hotel and have it out with him, but another part of her was sure if she did that she'd make things worse, not better. She wanted to hope that Alexander's choice to decline her invitation meant that _she_ was confronting Frank, and maybe that would be enough. Or maybe Joe would get through to him, because she didn't have any doubts that Joe would have called his brother by now. From the very beginning, Joe had been protective of Frank. He'd admitted to distrusting Frank before he met him, but it hadn't taken long to convince Joe that Frank wasn't trying to scam their family and that he was just the sort of brother Joe wanted—smart, protective, and loyal.

She didn't like leaving this in the hands of others, but she had to wonder if she was at all qualified to try and fix it. She'd thought that things between her and Frank were fine until today, and if she'd missed that much of a change, that much hostility, how could she say she knew him or what to do to make things right again?

"Nancy," her father said, and she jerked her head up, looking toward him. "That needs to stop. You're driving me crazy and making Hannah think you don't like her food."

She sighed. "It's not the food. It's... I'm worried about Frank, and it spoiled my appetite."

"Frank? Did you hear something to make you worry? Last time I spoke to Fenton, he said things were as fine as they could be, but there's always been a bit of strain there, and it has been some time since I spoke directly to Frank."

"He's in town."

Carson blinked. "What? Since when?"

"Today, at least. He's a part of the federal team here to help on my case," Nancy told him. She shook her head. "He's changed—he's so angry—and he wouldn't come to dinner when I asked him to, not even when I said you and Hannah would like to see him."

Carson blinked, and then he reached for his glass. "Well, I imagine it might be difficult for him, being here again. As I recall, he said as much on previous visits. A lot of bad memories have their home here, and he doesn't enjoy reliving them."

Nancy poked at her food with her fork. "I know he doesn't, but that doesn't excuse his behavior, either. He could take one night to see you. You may not have been exactly like a father to him, but he can't deny you looked out for him."

Hannah made a noise that sounded kind of like a snort, and Nancy looked over at her, almost missing her father shaking his head at their housekeeper. She frowned. What was she missing that they knew and she didn't? Had Frank spoken to either of them?

She was about to ask them when her phone rang. She grimaced, but since she was on a case, she knew she needed to answer it. She excused herself and rose, leaving the room to take the call.

"Drew."

"Hey, you think your dad would object to me crashing at your house for a few days?"

Nancy blinked. She rubbed her temple, trying to decide if she had a headache or was just confused. "So I get a lecture on manners and saying hello, but you can just jump straight to asking if it's okay if you stay here? Why not say something like 'I know we just talked, so I'll just skip right to it—can I crash at your place?'"

Joe sighed. "Sorry. Manners are kind of low on my list of priorities when I have a very short window of time to be sure I have somewhere to stay if I get a flight today, which if I am going to get one, I need to leave like now and—"

"What happened?" Nancy asked, frowning. "I thought you said you were in the middle of a mess of a case and that was what was bothering you, but—did you lie to me?"

"I may have held just a bit back," Joe admitted. "I wanted to try and talk to Frank first, but when I called him, I couldn't get him to stay on the line, and then things... escalated. It wasn't just one random package this time."

"Package?"

Joe sighed. "Someone's sending videos to the house. The last one came for Frank, and I opened it by mistake, since I was expecting something and Frank doesn't live here anymore. It was... I... They sent one of _his_ videos. The ones he was forced to make as a kid."

Nancy gagged, wanting to lose what little dinner she'd managed to eat. "Why would anyone do that? I guess I could almost see that bastard who called himself Frank's father doing it, but he's dead. We know he is. Frank wouldn't accept less than seeing his body, and Dad made that possible using some favor or other. That man is dead."

"Yeah, but there were plenty of others. Any one of them has reason to hate Frank—he testified against all of them—and want revenge. Or they're just sick and reliving their glory days. I don't know. I just know that the videos haven't stopped coming. This time they sent one to everyone of us—including Aunt Gertrude. I intercepted them, but I don't—I doubt they're going to stop with sending a video to harass us, and I don't want Frank blindsided by them, either. Hell, maybe this is why he's acting so weird—they already got them to him."

Nancy leaned back against the wall. "It might even be worse than that, Joe."

"What do you mean?"

"Frank was... unsettled by the crime scenes we visited today. More than one of them reminded him of the past, though he only admitted that about one of them—the other I noticed myself but he never said anything about. The one—he couldn't deny it. It shook him so badly he lost himself for a minute, and his supervisor called him on it."

"Damn," Joe said. "You think this could be connected? That this guy committed other crimes just to get to Frank?"

"Well, it's a stretch because no one could guarantee that the FBI would assign Frank even if it got pushed to the federal level—and it almost didn't—but it happened here, and that's a little hard to ignore because it almost had to cross my desk. So they get me involved, because if this is someone stalking Frank from the past... They could know about me, too."

"That settles it. I'm getting on the damn plane."

* * *

 _Thirteen Years Earlier_

Frank leaned over the sink, not sure if he was going to throw up again or not. He'd barely made it to the bathroom in time after the deputies finally let go of him, and he didn't want to do it again, but he didn't know how to keep his stomach calm after that. They kept trying to tell him that he was free, that he wouldn't be hurt again, but he couldn't help feeling like Michealson was a part of the movies, that he was just waiting for that moment where he was supposed to betray everyone—only it was not everyone, it was just Frank that got betrayed.

He shuddered, trying not to think about the times when he'd thought he'd been rescued, when the police had come or the paramedics, when federal agents were there supposedly to help him... Every time he'd believed that before, he'd ended up more hurt than ever, since their idea of "help" always turned into a nightmare where they all took turns with him.

He felt like Michealson was like them, all full of lies saying he was helping when he was just going to hurt Frank in the end. He didn't want to think that about Nancy or Joe, but he didn't see how they couldn't be involved if everyone else was.

He just wanted them to leave him alone. He wasn't going back out there, and he wasn't testifying, not when it was going to end up with him held down on that defendant's table or something sick, with the jury and everyone else watching.

He gagged again, running back toward the toilet. He threw up into the bowl, leaning over it and feeling weak. He should have let Joe stay, but he'd thought it was better to be alone and he couldn't stop panicking so he'd yelled and hit Joe until Nancy convinced him to go, just for a minute.

He could call out to them. They had to be right outside the door. He didn't see how they wouldn't be even if he was right about them all being a part of one of those horrible movies. He pushed himself up, going back to the sink to wash his face off again.

"Still can't control that stomach of yours, can you?"

Frank bumped the sink in a panic, eyes catching sight of the man he'd thought he'd seen before, in the courtroom. He was standing behind Frank, must have been in a stall because he knew he hadn't heard anyone—would they have let someone in? Not if they weren't involved, but if they were... "This isn't possible. You were arrested. They have a video—"

"Sure they do, but I had information they wanted," Beefy said with a grin. Frank hadn't liked this one because he always had to show off his muscles by hurting Frank, and if he ate when he was there, it was always steak so rare it didn't look cooked at all. Of course Frank puked after seeing that and having a man like that touch him. "So I tell them, I go free, and look what I find me. You."

Frank shook his head. "No. This—You can't—this is a courthouse and there are deputies and cops and lawyers and—"

"And I can have you right here under all of their noses if I want to," Beefy said, laughing. He grabbed hold of Frank's arm, and he tried to scream, but the man covered his mouth, dragging him back into the larger stall.

Frank tried to get free, squirming in the man's hold, but he hit Frank up against the wall, making his stomach roll with nausea from a concussion instead of his memories. A door banged, and he heard footsteps, but Beefy's hand moved from Frank's mouth to his neck, cutting off his air. His head was fuzzy already, but then Beefy liked to knock him around, and choking him was part of that, too.

"Frank?" Joe called out. "Where are you? I know I said I'd give you a minute, but you're starting to worry everyone."

"Think you got the wrong place, kid," Beefy told him, smirking at Frank as he kept him pinned against the wall, covering his mouth as well as keeping the other hand on his neck. Frank couldn't breathe. He would pass out—that had happened before—and then Beefy could do anything he wanted to him. Frank hated waking up to that. "I'm the only one here, and my name sure isn't Frank. Sorry about that."

"What?" Joe asked. "No, that's not possible. We were all outside, and my brother was in here. Frank couldn't have just disappeared. He was going to puke and—no, he's got to be here."

"Check under the stall if you want, kid, though it's not a pretty sight. There's no one here but me, and I've been having a little trouble, if you know what I mean."

Frank tried to pull on Beefy's hand, get it off his neck or face so he could breathe and call out to Joe, but he couldn't get even a finger up, and he was starting to see nothing but black. He didn't want to do this again, but he knew he wasn't ever going to be free.

Not unless he died.

* * *

"I don't understand," Joe said, frantic with near panic. "We were all standing right here. Frank couldn't have left the bathroom without us seeing him. He couldn't. The courthouse has windows that don't open, so it's not like he crawled out there. He couldn't have. And we would have seen him."

"Maybe not," Fenton said, though he was aware of his son glaring at him and Nancy doing the same. He sighed. "Frank _did_ run from us at the restaurant, and he did it when we thought he was just using the restroom. I don't even know how you found him, Nancy, but it's not like there isn't a precedence for this."

Laura winced. "If he ran, he could be anywhere."

"Why don't you see if we can arrange a search?" Fenton suggested, knowing that Laura needed to be doing something just as much as the rest of them did. "We'll get the security here involved, see if they have tapes of Frank going, try and narrow down what we might have missed. Joe, you check the front. If Frank managed to slip past us again, it's possible he's still out there, since he doesn't have money for a cab or any other transportation away from here. Nancy, can you think of anywhere nearby that he might have gone?"

She shook her head. "Not really. He's not that familiar with the area, since we haven't spent much time here. I don't know that I think Frank was able to sneak past us like that. He was terrified in there, and if he ran, we would have seen it."

Fenton nodded. "I have my doubts about that as well, but we have to cover all the bases. You go with Joe and scout the front."

"What about you?"

"Someone has to stay here in case Frank is just hiding in there. Maybe he was waiting for you to check, and once you have and he thinks we've left, he'll come out. I am willing to let him think we've gone if it means he'll come out," Fenton said, though even as he said it, he didn't think much of his plan, any of them. He nodded, prodding the others to their tasks, and then he turned his own attention back to the restroom.

Frank shouldn't have gotten past them, and Joe was right about that. They were all waiting and watching anxiously, and they wouldn't have been distracted enough for that, even with as many people coming and going and as much as they were worried about Frank and discussing what to do. No, it didn't feel right. Joe and Nancy had good instincts, and theirs agreed with what Fenton's were telling him now.

He went into the restroom, going straight to the large stall. He thought about how he could be about to make a fool of himself, but that didn't stop him. He kicked the door to the stall open, banging it into the back of a man near double his size. He didn't care about that, though. All he cared about was seeing that his son was in this bastard's hands, pale and still, not struggling, maybe even not breathing.

"Get off of him," Fenton snarled, yanking the man back and slamming him into the stall. He hit him again and again, not stopping until he let go of Frank, who hit the wall and gasped for air, his suit half undone and torn. "You sick bastard. You—I should kill you for this."

"Fat chance," the man said, and Fenton lost it, pounding on him until he'd forced the larger man into submission. His hands were bloodied and raw, and he didn't know where that had come from except that Frank hadn't hardly moved since the man let go of him.

Fenton let his opponent fall, kicking him after he was down, hoping he'd stay that way. He turned, kneeling next to his son. "Frank, can you hear me? Look at me. There, that's it. I'm here. You're safe now. I won't let him hurt you again."

Frank shivered, and Fenton pulled him close, holding him against his chest. "I could have lost you again. I don't... I don't think we could have made it through that a second time... Oh, hell, Frank. I'm so sorry. If I'd known he was here, that he would hurt you, I'd never have left you alone, even if it was what you thought you needed. I'm here now. I won't leave. Not again. I won't let anyone else hurt my son, I promise you that."


	15. Efforts and Uncertainty

**Author's Note:** All I really knew about what I was doing with this was part of the last scene. Then it got a bit silly and then not on me. I swear this story makes me crazy.

* * *

 **Efforts and Uncertainty**

"You didn't have to come get me at the airport."

Nancy almost laughed, not hesitating a second before wrapping her arms around Joe. She hadn't cared how late he got in or that she hadn't been able to sleep before he did. She had missed him more than she'd realized until he said he was coming. She knew she was in touch with him more than she was Frank, so she hadn't felt it as much, his absence, but she had taken on Joe as family when Frank did, since she wanted to keep Frank in her life. She loved the Hardys like family, all of them, and Joe was the brother she'd never had.

It felt good to see him and hold him. She tried to remember when she'd last seen him in person and failed miserably. "I missed you."

Joe pulled back and grinned at her. "I knew it. No one can resist me."

She rolled her eyes. "And now I remember why we don't talk that much."

He laughed, but she could see the fatigue around his eyes. Joe hadn't slept in days, and it showed, from the set of his shoulders to the stubble on his face. She knew they'd been on a difficult case—any case involving kids was hard—but that one had to be too close to what his own family had gone through, and with Frank acting like he was—she could see the toll that would take on them.

"It is good to see you," Joe told her, reaching up to brush back some of his hair. "I didn't think it had been that long, but now I know it has. Your hair—it was so short last time I saw you. Frank didn't think much of it—not that he told you that, he just said it when I showed him our pictures—but he'd like it now."

Nancy snorted. "I don't think Frank thinks much of anything of me right now. And I don't know why. He was so... angry and bitter..."

"Well, if he is getting this stuff in the mail, he's going to be more prickly than usual," Joe said, rubbing the back of his neck before adjusting his bag on his shoulder. "It's... This stuff is sick. So disgusting. Even if it was happening between two consenting adults it would be gross, but the fact that one of the people was a kid screaming no..."

Nancy grimaced. She couldn't help remembering the incident she'd seen with her own eyes, horrible as that was. She shook it off, trying not to think about that day. "I don't know that you'll get any kind of warm reception from your brother."

"I know. Frank won't want to discuss this. We almost got into it when we were on the phone. Then he threw Dad and me something to help with the case and hung up. Typical Frank."

Nancy shook her head as she started toward the parking lot. She should get Joe to a bed, same for herself. She had to work, and Joe would need some time to prepare before he faced his brother. Confronting Frank would not be easy. "We should get back to the house. Hannah already fixed up a room for you and she's looking forward to cooking you breakfast."

"She's never going to retire, is she?"

"I doubt it," Nancy said. "We're family, and she likes keeping busy. I don't think she'll quit until she's physically incapable of doing it. Which... I don't mind. It would be so strange to face the house without her."

"Haven't you and Ned found a place yet?" Joe asked, and Nancy tensed, not sure how to answer that. She didn't want to get into any of that right now. "Or... did something happen between now and when we last talked? The wedding is still on, isn't it?"

Nancy bit her lip. "To be honest, I'm not sure."

* * *

 _Thirteen Years Earlier_

"This is a disaster."

"You think, Michealson?" Carson asked, shaking his head as he tried to restrain himself. After what Fenton Hardy had done to his son's attacker, the other attorney should have backed off and stayed way the hell away from everyone, but he hadn't. This whole damn mess was his fault, and Frank was back in the hospital because of that man's stupidity. "You knew better than to have that kid face his abuser in open court, but you pushed anyway. You left him wide open to that attack by making deals with scum, and if not for the fact that I don't want the man who tormented him out on the streets free to do as he pleased, I'd say you deserve to have a damned mistrial."

Michealson glared at him, and Nancy tugged on his arm. Carson grimaced. He wasn't prone to outbursts, not like this, and he didn't like losing control, but he couldn't help being frustrated. The entire situation was infuriating, what with them threatening to take Frank out of the hospital to a group home despite his family being there to take him and Carson willing to extend his guardianship if necessary, and even more so the fact that Frank's nightmare was far from over, not even if this trial could be salvaged.

"Drew is right," the judge said. "I am very close to declaring this a mistrial, and my recommendation would be to replace you as lead counsel on this case. Now, if you will excuse me, I need to have a talk with that young man in there."

Carson gave the other attorney another look before following the judge into the room. He almost swore when he got closer. Frank was too calm not to be medicated. He turned to Harrison. "This is probably not a good time. He's on painkillers."

Frank's eyes went to Harrison, and he tried to sit up in a panic. Nancy touched his arm. "It's okay. The judge just wants to talk about what happened today."

"Remember," Fenton told him, "none of us have left, and none of us will let you be hurt again. It won't happen."

Frank groaned, turning over in the bed. "Leave me alone."

"That's not really possible, son," Harrison said, and Frank flinched, curling up away from the people surrounding him. "We have to discuss what happened in court. I need to know if the defendant was at all involved."

Frank shivered. "He... He spoke to me. He... He said _hello, whore_ like he always did. He... He smirked at me like... like when he had something really bad planned. Something that would hurt. He liked it when... when I was scared or hurt. It always made him smile more, enjoy... what he did more. Like it made him feel... more somehow. He liked my pain."

The judge folded his arms over his chest, trying to contain his reaction. "And that was it?"

"Why does it always have to be more?" Frank asked, not looking at him. Laura reached out to touch her son's hair, but he jerked away from her attempt to comfort him. "I didn't... If I'd finished my testimony, I would have had to talk about his... tricks. The movies he made by... by letting me think I'd gotten free. More than once, he had men dressed as cops 'save' me only to do... to force me to do it with them. Paramedics. Doctors. Federal agents. This... It just seems like a longer movie, one he let go on, laughing the entire time I thought I was free and had friends and family and... Mr. Michealson is so like them, like the men that were in those movies... This trial... He's going to get free and do it all again, isn't he? Do I really have to do this? I don't want to pretend anymore. I don't want to be tricked."

The judge studied him. "The incident after the courtroom."

Frank sighed. "I... I had to puke. I... The idea of having to... a whole courtroom... It made me sick. I puked and was washing my face and he... Beefy was behind me. I—I don't know his name for sure, they used so many during the movies, but I called him that—he said he could hurt me under everyone's noses. That he got free because he made a deal... He was one of the _worst_ ones I had to... He always made sure it hurt, he choked me, did other... things I can't even... Why did you let him go free?"

Harrison turned to Michealson. "I'm hoping you have a damned good reason for that."

"He had information on the larger syndicate," Michealson said, defensive. "It wasn't ideal, but we needed to stop the entire organization, not just one man."

"So this sick bastard gets to go free and terrorize other children?" Laura demanded. "Are you out of your _mind?_ No deal is worth that. There are other ways to bring down those syndicates. Frank gave you plenty of them."

Michealson stiffened, and Carson had to admit, he enjoyed watching the other man squirm. "He did not have immunity for the attack he made on your son at the courthouse. He is in custody and can be tried for that crime. It is still possible for him to go away for a long time."

"I'd throw the book at him," Harrison muttered. He turned back to Frank. "I need to know if you can complete your testimony. Your advocate has recommended that you give it in private, but if that is not an option, can you do it?"

Frank closed his eyes. "I don't want to talk about it again. I don't want to do any of this again. I'd rather die. That doesn't mean I _can't._ It just means... It..."

"I know what it means," Harrison said, and Frank shuddered again, pulling the blanket over his head.

* * *

"You haven't eaten in days, you know. That's just... not right."

"Go away, Joe. I don't want any food, and I don't want you."

Joe rolled his eyes, sitting down next to his brother. He knew Frank was having a rough time, that he'd had one even before the trials started, but with that man getting close to him, Frank seemed almost to have given up, and Joe refused to accept that. Yeah, the perverts had hurt him, and yeah, one had gotten free to try again, but Frank didn't need to give into them. That guy would go away now, and even if he hadn't gotten arrested, their father had given him one hell of a pounding. The jerk deserved more. Joe still couldn't believe he'd fallen for that guy's lies, but he couldn't see Frank's legs under the stall, so he'd had no way to disprove it.

"You need to eat."

"He has a point," Nancy said, joining them. "Starving yourself is not an option, even if you are still half-convinced that none of this is real. Social services will get it in their heads they're right to pull you out of here or away from your family, and you know that's not what you want."

Joe waited for his brother to say that he wanted to go with his family, that he should just be able to, but Frank didn't. He pulled his legs up against his chest, and Joe knew he was wrong to be glad he couldn't see the ugly bruise on Frank's neck anymore. That thing was horrifying, a constant reminder that they'd almost lost Frank again. "I don't want to do this again."

"You won't."

"You don't know that," Frank said, leaning his chin on his knees. "No one does. No one thought he'd be in that restroom, not even after I saw him in the courtroom. I don't want to be... I don't want to be in that position again. Not ever."

Joe knew promises to protect Frank wouldn't be enough, not if he couldn't accept that his family was real and wanted to help him—and how could he not when their dad had beaten the crap out of that bastard? He shrugged. "So let's get you some self-defense courses. I'll be your sparring partner. I've had a few classes myself."

"So have I," Nancy said, and Joe looked at her. She smiled. "Dad figured I had to have some if I was going to be getting myself in trouble all the time. So we can both help with that—or not, if you want—and find a way to get you more training in addition to that."

Frank nodded. "I... I do want the... I want to be able to fight back for once. I... I never win, but maybe if..."

"Trust me, Frank," Joe told him, "by the time we're done with teaching you, you'll win every fight."

Frank snorted. "You're an idiot. No one wins every fight."

"Chuck Norris does."

Nancy frowned. "Who?"

Frank shook his head. "You can't use an internet meme as a real life example. That's not—"

"He _is_ a real person," Joe insisted. He had a whole boxed set of _Walker, Texas Ranger_ at his house, and if Frank didn't believe the guy was real, he would prove it. He could even do it with internet videos if he needed to.

"I didn't say he wasn't," Frank said, falling into his lecture tone, one that was so like their dad's even if Frank had no idea that it was. "I'm just saying that jokes that started in chat on an MMO can't be counted as proof of anything."

"Come on," Joe said, nudging his brother. He grinned as he repeated one of his favorites. "Chuck Norris was born May 6, 1945. The Nazis surrendered May 7, 1945. Coincidence? I don't think so."

Nancy snorted, trying to hold back a giggle. "That's terrible."

Frank nodded. "She's right. You're ridiculous."

"But fun," Joe reminded him. "And see? You're not trying to push me away again. So that means now you can eat, and when you're done eating, Nancy's going to tell us about our next case."

Frank blinked. "What?"

Nancy shook her head. "Who says I have a case?"

"It's you," the brothers said at the same time. "You always have a case."

Frank stopped, glaring at Joe, who could only sit there and grin. He knew he'd won. Frank would see that things were real. They'd just have to keep him trying, and Joe was good at pushing. He could do that all the time.

Trouble was... When they actually went home, Nancy wouldn't be there to help. And would Frank even be willing to go? He still hadn't said he was, that he'd go back east with them, and as much as they'd stayed here to support him, that wasn't going to last forever.

Damn it. Even if they got Frank self-defense courses and managed to keep himself from starving himself, they could still lose him because he wouldn't be willing to leave Nancy behind.


	16. Many Battles

**Author's Note:** So this one ended up being mostly in the future sections. It was going to be more balanced, but the third scene demanded to follow up the first two, so there it is.

Also, there is a bit of unpleasant flashback in there. Just warning.

* * *

 **Many Battles**

"The point of a continental breakfast is free food, you know." Alexander sat down across from Frank, and he just tightened his grip on his coffee cup, tempted to break it. "You look like hell, Hardy. You get any sleep last night?"

Frank didn't want to answer that. He didn't sleep much, ever, but last night had been worse than most, mixing past monsters with current ones and leaving him little more than a mess of shudders and sweat. He didn't know that he'd ever slept well through a night, not since he was younger, but the fear and panic those dreams brought was in some ways harder to take than the original abuse. He was ready to puke just thinking about them, and that wasn't reliving them, just vague associations.

"I'll take that as a no," she said. "I could have stayed."

"I didn't need a babysitter," Frank muttered, shaking his head. He didn't like having someone there when he slept, didn't like being watched. He'd struggled the few times he'd had to share rooms in the past, working through the night rather than face having another agent in the same space as him. "And I prefer sleeping alone."

"I have no desire to throw away ten years of marriage and the best man I've ever known on you," she told him, stopping to take a rather vicious bite of her bagel. She chewed it down and shook her head. "Don't confuse the issue here or try and piss me off. It wasn't about babysitting or sex. It was about support."

"And if you think that having someone share a bedroom with me is something I've ever grown to like, you're mistaken," Frank said before finishing off his coffee. He thought about getting up for a refill and discarded the idea. "The sound of someone else breathing when I'm trying to sleep bothers me, for reasons I think you can guess."

She nodded, reaching for her own coffee. "Should I get someone to replace you for this one?"

"Hell no."

She laughed. "I figured that would be your reaction, and I know I don't want to do it—you are the only agent on my team worth calling an agent—but I also have an obligation to the part of me that cares about you that can't let you destroy yourself trying to prove you're fine, that you can handle this. Some things... Some things aren't meant to be handled."

"You think I don't know that?" Frank asked. He knew most life lessons and clichés better than anyone. He got up, taking his cup over to the coffee pot, pouring himself a refill. He sat back down and faced Alexander. "What did you do with McKay and Conners?"

She smiled. "You know their favorite thing to do."

"Garbage sorting?" Frank didn't know an agent that enjoyed that, not even the ones that focused on forensics, but he couldn't say he minded hearing the two jerks on his team would be doing it for the foreseeable future. Alexander would keep them busy doing it for hours if she could, and he was glad of it, not needing them anywhere near him today, not after the night he'd had. "How did you manage to attach that to this case?"

"Watch and learn, Hardy. I am still the best at what I do," she said, leaning back with a smug grin as she drank her coffee. Frank was about to smile back at her when he saw a familiar figure in the doorway and cursed instead.

"Told you I didn't need a babysitter," Frank muttered, putting a hand to his head, knowing it wouldn't stop the ache. "Hello, Joe."

* * *

"He's going to kill me. He really is."

Nancy looked over at Joe, not sure she could summon up any enthusiasm for his jokes. She hadn't slept much, and even that she might have overcome if she wasn't nervous herself about confronting Frank. She was uncomfortable enough facing Joe again after their awkward conversation last night, one that still hung in the air with its unanswered questions. She didn't know how to answer them, not when things were so unsettled between her and Ned.

She should fix that, but she wasn't sure if that was possible. She didn't even want to think about it too much, not sure how to feel or what she could do, if anything.

Joe would push, eventually, and he'd get to the truth of all it, things she wasn't sure she knew herself, but for now, he was distracted by his brother, and she'd let him stay that way. She didn't need to go into the mess that was her personal life, not now. If someone was sending videos to Frank, if he was targeted again, she wanted to make sure they did everything they could to stop him from being hurt again. Just because he had a badge did not make him safe.

"All joking aside," Joe said. "He _will_ be pissed."

Nancy almost winced. Frank didn't seem like someone who should have a temper, and for years, it seemed like he didn't. He'd been beaten down and abused, and he'd been traumatized by it. He could have been warped by it in other ways, could have become a bully or worse—he could have not only accepted what that man claiming to be his father had done but been a part of perpetuating it on the other children that man abducted and killed—and he could have become nothing but a bitter, angry shell. She knew that wasn't him, the way he'd been acting. Frank was more than that, even if he did give into his temper on occasion.

Everyone did that.

People didn't worry about everyone the same way they did Frank.

"I'm willing to take the heat if you are," Joe said, nudging her with his elbow and drawing her attention back to him. She forced a smile. "And we're getting pretty close to where we will have to face the dragon."

"I'd say it was fortunate I had a knight in tarnished armor to protect me, but I have a badge and a gun, and I'd rely on them first."

"Ouch. That hurts," Joe said, feigning being wounded. She rolled her eyes, and he grinned at her just before entering into the hotel. She followed after him, frowning when he made a beeline toward the continental breakfast. She knew Joe tended to think with his stomach, but this was ridiculous.

"Hello, Joe."

Nancy would have flinched at that tone. Joe was a lot braver than she was in some respects. He went headlong toward the inevitable. She could only stand back and watch.

"Good to see you, too, Frank," Joe said as he went over to his brother's table. "I would say you're looking well but you look like crap so I'd be lying."

"And if I said I was glad to see you, then I would be lying," Frank told him as he sat down. "Seriously, Joe, what the hell are you doing here? I know I told you not to come. You even said you were in the middle of a case. Was that just a lie?"

"No, we were definitely in the middle of a case, and it was bad, but you did your little computer magic and you narrowed down our search... enough," Joe said as Frank lost a shade of color. His brother had been right, he looked like hell, only now he was worse.

"I... I wanted to be wrong about that."

Joe nodded. "Can't say as I blame you, but it just goes to show how good at this you really are. Like you were born to solve mysteries."

Frank almost didn't make it to the trash can before he threw up.

* * *

 _"Don't sit there crying. Get up," his father ordered, and he trembled, too scared to move. If he moved, he'd be hurt. If he didn't, he be hurt. He was always hurt. His father dragged him up to his feet, wiping off the tears with enough force to make his cheek sting. "Stop it. You know better than this."_

 _"Please leave me alone. Please, I don't want to do this. I don't want to—"_

 _His father grabbed him by the back of the neck, the pain making him cry out. His father snorted with disgust, shoving him toward the bed. "Stop fighting me. You know this all you're good for, whore. You were born for this, meant to be used just like this."_

 _"No. I... Please, don't—"_

 _"This is all you will ever be good at, the only reason to keep you around. If I don't do this, I have no use for you. And it's such a pity because you are a good little whore," his father said, pushing him down on the bed._

Frank needed enough alcohol to trash his liver for good to make that image fade from his head, to burn the taste of it out of his mouth, to give his stomach something worth tossing. He hated this. He shouldn't have reacted this strongly to Joe's words, and he hated being weak. He could not afford weakness, even if McKay and Conners were on garbage detail. They weren't the only ones he couldn't let his guard down in front of—he couldn't do that in front of anyone, not even Joe.

"Hardy."

Alexander didn't have to say anything else. He didn't need her to; that wasn't how they worked. They had a working relationship that tried to rival his with his brother or... or his connection to Nancy in the early days.

"I'm fine. It... It was just a flash and it's over now."

"Frank," his brother began, and he had to bit back a groan. He didn't want to deal with Joe's hovering or overprotectiveness. He just wanted to get back to his job and push the rest of this out of his mind, off to somewhere that he didn't have to think about it or deal with it.

"Leave me alone."

Joe snorted. "I can't do that. Do you honestly think I got on a plane in the middle of the night because I was just coming to chat? Don't flatter yourself. I know better than that, and even if I haven't seen my brother in months because he's a stubborn stupid idiot, I know you won't accept that as a reason. I cam because someone is threatening you."

Frank leaned against the wall, trying to pretend he felt better than he did. He added in a glare for good measure. "Nice of you to invent an excuse, but it's one of the flimsiest, clumsiest ones I've ever heard. You can drop it and go."

Joe shook his head, not even attempting to joke. "It's not an excuse. It's not—you'll want to discuss this in private. I know that much."

"I didn't say I was discussing anything."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Yeah, sure. Fine, if you want to be like that—"

"He doesn't," Nancy said, putting a hand on Joe's arm. She looked him in the eyes, making sure she had his full attention. "And you don't, either. You're reacting in anger. One of the things brothers do best is get under each other's skins, and even if you didn't grow up together in the normal sense, you two perfected that years ago. Frank's doing it defensively, and you're giving into it, but it's not how it has to be or how either of you _want_ it to be. Neither of you enjoys fighting with the other, even if you _are_ good at it."

Frank bit back saying that Nancy didn't know him anymore. Maybe he did want to fight. Maybe that was the only thing he wanted from his brother right now—someone to hit, someone he knew he wouldn't damage permanently. "No one asked you."

"I will," Alexander said. "I'd like to know what this threat is and what we're going to do about it."

* * *

 _Thirteen Years Earlier_

"I don't like this," Laura said, frowning as she twisted her fingers in her shirt as she fidgeted. She couldn't hardly stand still, and Fenton didn't know that he blamed her for feeling that way, not when she was watching her sons fight. What mother was comfortable with her children doing that? Not a good one, and Laura was one of the best, though Fenton knew he was biased towards his wife. She made so much of what they did possible, and she never complained. She was a rare woman, one he knew he didn't deserve.

"It's fine. They're training." Fenton had been leery of his sons' suggestion that Frank take self-defense courses, even if he wanted to be sure that what happened to Frank in that bathroom never happened again. This was important, almost necessary, and he needed to see his sons through it.

"Fine? Nothing about this is _fine,"_ Laura snapped, and Fenton almost winced as he heard her voice. "I don't mind sports. Sports can be dangerous, but they're not... I know Joe knows how to fight. He's got all kinds of training, and he's a natural athlete. Frank... Frank wasn't trained. He's still underweight and so small, so thin..."

"He's holding his own," Fenton said. His son's ability to stand up to even the _idea_ of a fight had impressed him. Frank should have had that beaten out of him years ago, but he still fought back. He didn't have the skills or the physical ability he needed, but he was finding both of those things. Frank would gain muscle mass by training, and he was learning more and more about how to defend himself effectively.

"I know that," Laura said, still sounding troubled. "He's... He's so... He fights like he's angry. Like... That man, it always sounded like he hurt Frank for... pleasure, like he enjoyed it, but maybe it wasn't like that. Maybe it was anger. Maybe he learned that from... him."

Fenton tried not to grimace. He didn't think that Frank picked that from the man who'd pretended to be his father. He'd gotten it from his _real_ father. Fenton had acted out of almost a pure rage when he'd seen that man hurting his son. He might have taught his son more than he'd wanted to then. He'd just wanted Frank to know that his family wouldn't let him be hurt, that they'd fight for him. Maybe he should have thought more about how he showed that.

"Frank won't hurt anyone," Fenton said, and Laura gave him a look that showed her doubts. "He's not that person. Not at heart. He is too good for that."

"He is good," Laura agreed with a wince. "Such a beautiful boy, inside and out."

Fenton looked at his wife, trying to figure out what he might say to her now. He wasn't sure there was anything. Not when she was this worried about her boys.


	17. Critical Considerations

**Author's Note:** So it needed in some ways to reach this point but at the same time, it's hard to do this point. Then again, I'm not sure that any of this story is easy, nor should it be.

* * *

 **Critical Considerations**

"If you insist on doing this, start talking and get it over with," Frank ordered the second the door shut behind Alexander, who was the last one in line in their small group. He took up a position against the far wall where he could glare from a distance, and one look at him made it clear he didn't want anyone going near him.

Joe wanted to smack him, but he held back, needing to stay calmer than he usually managed because this was Frank and he had to get through to him this time. He couldn't lose his brother, and he would not let Frank push him out of anger or a misguided need to be independent. This was too damned important for that.

"There's been at least five that I know of," Joe began, fingering the discs in his pocket. He'd brought them because he knew Frank would want proof, but he wasn't pulling them out until he had to. He wasn't sure how much Frank's boss knew—she had to know plenty since the FBI would have a file on Frank—but he didn't want to show those videos to anyone else. "You might know of more."

Frank folded his arms over his chest. "I have no idea what you're talking about, and I would really like to get back to work, so talk quickly."

Joe balled his fist, forcing himself not to show any more of his reaction to his brother, not when Frank _wanted_ to provoke him. That was his defense mechanism working overtime. He would rather fight than face any of their issues or his own. "Discs. One for you first, then one for each of the rest of us. You want to guess what's on them? Because I think you know."

"You're giving me a headache, and no, I don't."

Nancy shook her head. "You would if you were thinking about it. Even if you didn't know in advance, you could guess. Not only is it your profession of choice, but you have the best knowledge of what would be on a disc that someone would send to threaten you in particular."

Frank tensed. "Not that."

Alexander eyed him, but she didn't say anything. Joe swallowed, nodding. "They were... those videos. And even though I know you will hate knowing that I've seen them, I won't lie and say I didn't watch at least part of them. The first one was an accident, but the others... I needed to be sure they were all the same."

Frank looked like he was going to puke again. "You didn't."

Joe could almost do that vomiting thing himself thinking of what he'd seen. "I did. I... There is a part of me that really wishes I hadn't, but I did. I won't say that... watching was easy or that I didn't have to drink away the taste and shower off the sickness. It... It was worse, knowing those horrible things were being done to... to my brother, but I... I survived seeing them."

Frank shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"You think this is Dunn?" Alexander asked, folding her arms over her chest as she studied Frank.

"Dunn?" Joe asked, hearing an echo in Nancy's voice. "Who the hell is Dunn?"

"No one," Frank said, though in the face of their looks, he shakes his head. "Someone from another case. Not important. He's locked up and very likely to stay that way. No, I don't think he had anything to do with this because I don't think he has that kind of reach."

"Are you sure about that? I'm sure he hasn't gone to trial yet," Nancy said, throwing in her weight as the daughter of an attorney and a police detective. "He could be out on bail. He could have found a way to get those things in the mail. If he's—"

"You don't attack federal agents and get bail," Frank said, voice harsh. Joe felt it like a punch to the gut, knowing without the words passing from Frank's lips or any other evidence that his brother was the federal agent that was attacked. For Alexander to think this Dunn guy was behind the threats...

"What did Dunn do to you?" Joe asked, earning another glare from his brother.

"Nothing," Frank said, his voice still cold and dark. "And don't ask again."

"Frank—"

"I said," his brother growled out in a dangerous tone, "don't ask."

* * *

 _Thirteen Years Earlier_

"Frank, we'd like to talk to you."

He faced his parents with a sick feeling in his stomach. He knew how Laura felt about him taking self-defense classes, and he had a feeling she'd convinced Fenton to go along with her, that they were saying he had to stop. Just when he was learning to defend himself, to make it so that he would never be caught like that and hurt again, they were going make him stop. He didn't know if that meant they were going to start on what he feared or not. Technically, they had custody now. They could make him do whatever they wanted.

At least, he thought they did. He hadn't actually understood all of what Carson had said about the custody situation because it was confusing. He had thought it was simple—his custody belonged to his parents if they were really his parents—but there was some complication, some reason that he had been transferred over to the state and somehow Carson got an injunction that kept that from happening or something like that. Frank had trouble following the legalities involved in it, mostly because they did not make sense.

He should look up the laws and figure out if any of that was real, but he had to admit, he was scared. If he found out that none of what Carson said was true, then he'd have proof that all of it was a lie. He'd know that he was going to be stuck doing those sick films, and he wasn't ready to face that. Not before he had a way to fight. He had to at least be able to beat Joe if that was going to happen. He didn't think he could beat Fenton, not after seeing what he'd done to Beefy, but if he could beat Joe, then maybe... Maybe he had some kind of chance, maybe if they turned on him, he could stop them.

"Frank, please calm down," his mother said, reaching for his hands. "You don't have to be scared. This isn't... It's something we'd like to discuss with you, but in the end, as much as we might want to make the choice for you, it's your decision."

Frank frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"I... We..."

"The plain truth of it is that we've almost exhausted the extent of our resources," Fenton said, and Frank tensed, not wanting to think about them using him to get money, not like his other father had done. He wouldn't do that again. "Easy, son, relax. We are not saying that because we expect you to make that money for us. We are saying it because... we have to go back home."

"You're leaving?"

Laura winced. "The last thing we want to do is leave you behind, but... What savings we have we've spent, and your father at least has to return to the business before we lose it completely. We've been looking into the possibility of relocating, but that... is not currently an option. We'll lose too much if we don't take measures now, and the school year is about to start, so it seems best that Joe return as well... We would like you to... to consider coming with us."

Frank swallowed. He didn't understand. "Don't I... have to?"

"The custody situation is still complicated, and Carson says it will likely be that way until a new trial is arranged," Laura told him. "We had hoped that when the trials were over, you'd be willing to come back with us, but the financial end has pushed us to do this before we wanted to and before you're ready..."

Fenton put a hand on her shoulder. "If you could consider coming with us on a trial basis, you might decide you could stay. Joe, of course, is all set to try and 'persuade' you which would be more like bullying you until he wears you down, but we want you to know that... That as much as all of us want you with us, we won't force that. I have to go back and find some way to pull the business out of the red and once I've done that, I can find a way to move it or shut it down and take a job for someone else, but until then, I have to be back east. I hate this—I feel like I'm going back on my word to you. I said we wouldn't abandon you, yet here I am, telling you I'm leaving."

"It's not abandoning, Fenton. It's..." Laura sighed. "It's making more permanent arrangements possible. We can't stay here forever, not unless we sell the house and the business, and currently, we owe more on the house than we can sell it for, but that doesn't mean we're—we just need to reorganize a little. Cutting back on the expense of renting here will help with that."

Frank bit his lip. "You... You think I am... Why are you giving me a choice?"

"Because you deserve one, because we don't want to hurt you, and because we know how much it means to you to have Nancy nearby," his mother said. She squeezed his hands. "I would like to show you our home. I'd like to show you... so many things."

That turned Frank's stomach again. "Can... Can I be alone now?"

"Of course. Take as long as you need to think this through."

* * *

"Frank?" Nancy asked, not sure she knew what to think of finding him in his room like this, curled up into a corner with his head buried in his knees. She hadn't seen him like this since the first few days he'd been in their house, and she didn't want to see that again. He'd been so scared and hurt, afraid of everyone and everything, and he should not be back to that. Even when he'd been attacked after the trial he hadn't done it, so why now? Why was he here?

"Frank, look at me, please," Nancy said, kneeling down next to him. "What's wrong? Talk to me."

He lifted his head, troubled eyes meeting hers. She reached over to put her hand on his. He trembled, and she swallowed, trying to find something that would get him talking again, get things back to where she understood and could try to help.

"What happened?"

"They... they asked me to go back with them. To their house."

"Your family?" Nancy asked, not sure why this would be so devastating. It was to her—the idea of losing Frank scared her—but Frank's family had been nothing but good to him, and she'd known all along that they'd want to take him back to their home. She'd been dreading it for over a year now. "The Hardys?"

Frank nodded. "They... They said I had a choice, but I might not have a choice. And if I go, then... I could be stuck there, and what if it happens again? What if they... What if he hurts me? What if I have to do that—he could—the other one did and—"

"No," Nancy interrupted, not letting him finish that thought. "No, Mr. Hardy isn't like that. You would know if he was. He would have already done it if he was going to, but he hasn't. This is not about tricking you. He had that position where he could have abused it more than once by now. He had you alone after a man who was going to do it was stopped—he could have done it then and you might not even have known it was him. He is not that person, though. He is not going to abuse you."

Frank looked down at his knees. "I used to believe... I used to... He said if I... he was my father—don't say he wasn't because I know he wasn't _now_ but I didn't know it then and there was a time when he pretended to be more than... He used to say it was because he was my father. Because he... he loved me and it was what fathers and sons did..."

"Only it isn't," Nancy insisted. "It's not right at all. You know my dad. You know how he treats me. You know how Fenton treats Joe. That is what a father is supposed to be. Not that man. He was never a father. He was always a monster."

Frank shook his head. "They weren't—they all _seemed_ nice. Or most of them. Some of them did. I don't—there were some—he didn't... Some of them pretended to be good people. Not just the ones who played at being cops or doctors. They... They were just ordinary and nice. Then they... When they were alone with me..."

Nancy put her hands on Frank's face. "Look at me. I am not saying this because I want you to go. The last thing I want is to say goodbye to you, _ever._ I just... I want you to be happy. I want what's best for you. You have a family. It's one you were stolen from and lied to about, but they're not gone. You have a second chance now to be with them, to know what it's supposed to be like, to start over and get past what those men did to you. You don't have to let them keep hurting you by keeping you from your family. Don't let them win, Frank. They stole you before. You're the one doing it now."

He looked at her. "And if... if you're wrong and it's all a lie, and he does hurt me, what then? There won't be anywhere to go or any way to escape... Why didn't he just _kill_ me? Why did he kill all those others but keep me? He always said I was so much trouble and so... useless. He only wanted me for his videos, but he had new kids, he could have kept them and let me die... I'd be... it would just be over then. It wouldn't be like this. Wouldn't be an endless nightmare..."

"Oh, Frank," Nancy whispered, pulling him into her arms and wishing she could take away all the pain somehow. "I love you. Please don't ever wish you were dead. All of our lives are better because we know you. I swear that. It's hard now, but it will get better. It has to."

"It won't," Frank mumbled into her shoulder as his body gave way to trembling.


	18. Rough Transitions

**Author's Note:** Oh, there is so much that could go into Frank's move to the east coast. It's almost too much, really, which is how this chapter ended up like this so that I wouldn't get buried in it.

And I don't know how to write Chet.

* * *

 **Rough Transitions**

"All right, say we accept that Dunn is someone you won't talk about," Nancy began, and she didn't buy that Dunn wasn't a good possibility for the threats since Frank had reacted to him so strongly, but she was trying to find the way to keep him from shutting them out completely. "That doesn't change that you have been threatened."

"Videos sent to the house are not threats," Frank countered. "They're reminders, but none of us needed them and we don't have to use them. At worst, people who never saw what was on them before now could, but that doesn't have to happen since Joe intercepted them. So this is all very interesting but in the end, pointless. Now can we end this 'intervention' and get back to work? And if your answer is no, Nancy, I think we should really consider getting a different detective assigned as a liaison."

That was a bit of a kick to the gut, and Nancy didn't know how to react to it. She didn't understand where all of this hostility came from—it couldn't _all_ be him acting defensively, but what had she done that was so terrible? It wasn't like Fenton or one of the others had hurt him and made him think it was all a lie, not like he'd feared for so long. He was still talking to Joe, so that wasn't it.

She hadn't hardly talked to Frank, but he seemed to _want_ that, so what had she done that was so damned wrong?

Joe looked at his brother, shaking his head in disbelief. "Frank—"

"I mean it," Frank snapped. "All you have done is make me lose my breakfast, and that particular feat isn't one to be proud of, but it's nothing new. I don't care about the damn videos. I know they exist, I know that people have seen them, but I don't have to think about that constantly. If I did, I'd be useless, but I'm not. I can work, I have a job to do, and I want to get back to it. I don't appreciate the meddling or the distraction, which you already know."

"Yeah, but this isn't—"

"Isn't what? Not like me?" Frank demanded, and from the look on Joe's face, that was what he was about to say. Nancy might have said it herself. "Joe, you spent years telling me whatever I felt about the abuse was my right to feel, whether it was scared or angry or anything else. I did scared. I did years of scared. Now I may have migrated to angry, but you know what? It's still my right to feel whatever I feel, so just let it go. I am dealing with this in my own way, and no, I don't want someone else involved. I don't want to be told what to feel or how to act. I want to be able to do what I came here to do. Because there is a chance the review board might decide I can't and this is my last case, so I want to finish it. I want to see that through, and I do not want this... made up threat trying to take that away from me."

Nancy swallowed. "I don't know, Frank. The way some of those crime scenes were set up, that one with the fireplace—I have to wonder if it's not connected. If maybe they weren't in part staged to get you involved. They were my cases, but we never completely cut ties, even when you moved away, and I have to wonder if they weren't picked as a lure. It's even possible that the reason I was attacked wasn't because I was getting close to anything—I didn't feel like I was—but to draw you in. If you combine the videos with those parts of the crime scenes that could have been taken straight from them—"

"Don't," Frank warned, but she could see his mind working, taking that in and trying to make sense of it as he did. "Don't start that. It's not what you think."

"We don't know that, not for sure."

* * *

 _Thirteen Years Earlier_

"So... How is it?"

Frank looked around his room again. He knew what she wanted to hear, and it wouldn't be that much of a lie. He had a nice enough life here, and she wanted to know that. She wanted to know she hadn't done the wrong thing telling him to come with them, and she hadn't. So far, he'd seen no signs that they intended to hurt him. He had his own space, Laura was a good cook, and Joe was... impossible, but Frank had known that before he agreed to this trial period with his family.

"My room is... okay. I think it's smaller than the one I had before, but I have my own space. Joe barges in all the time like he doesn't understand what a closed door means, but he didn't before, so I shouldn't be so surprised. They made me take a bunch of aptitude classes to see where I placed for school, and that made them a little... weird because I guess I placed above where they want to put me? I'm not sure. They were all excited, and Joe kept going on about me being a genius until I yelled at him to stop. That kind of... killed the mood."

"Well... We always knew you were smart," Nancy said, and he knew she was smiling, even if she wasn't with him so he could see it.

"No," he corrected, knowing he would take away the smile but needing to say the truth anyway. "We didn't."

She didn't say anything. She couldn't argue with him—he'd been told he was an idiot more times than he could count when he was younger. He'd barely known how to read when she found him. He hadn't felt smart. He still didn't, most days, even though he'd been able to do all the schoolwork he'd been given.

"I had a case I wish I you'd been here for," Nancy said instead. "I think you would have seen the answer I missed. You're so good at that."

Frank sat down on his bed, looking at his feet. "Joe tried to talk me into some cases here. He has it in his head that the two of us are partners."

"I don't see what's so bad about that. You'd make a good team."

"I don't do teams," Frank said, drawing his knees up to his chest. "Did you know—of course you don't—I was—we ran into Joe's coach. He's on a bunch of teams, and this guy... he thought I should be, too. Like that's even an option. He just assumes it's in the Hardy genes, that I should be as good as Joe is, and he's wrong. Anyone should know that just by looking at me. Even with as tall as I am, as skinny—I'm not even good for basketball."

Nancy sighed. "I think you could be better at sports than you realize. You haven't really wanted to try despite Joe's pestering."

"He is... too enthusiastic. He kept insisting on introducing me to his friends, and I said no, but I agreed to go out for pizza, and there they all were. They seem nice enough—everyone loves Joe, it's like this strange disease or spell they fall under—but it was... overwhelming."

"You just need time. Bess and George were overwhelming for you in the beginning," Nancy reminded him. "When is your first break from school? We all get into the habit of counting down days, which I'm sure you'll be no stranger to, but I was thinking that if we both had time off around the same days or close to it, maybe we could arrange a visit. I'd like to see your house. Everything there sounds nice. You said you liked your room, right?"

"I didn't decorate it. They said I could, but I don't see the point."

Nancy's end of the line was quiet, and then she asked, "Frank, do you hate it there? Be honest, please. If you don't feel safe there or you just can't stand it, tell me. Please. I will bug Dad until he goes and gets you and brings you back here. You know you will always have a home here."

"There's nothing wrong with this place," Frank said. "The problem... The problem is with me. I... I don't fit with a family. With these people, with... _any_ people. They're normal. I'm not. They want me to be like them, but I'm just... not."

"You are fine how you are, and you do not have to change. You are allowed to heal, but you do not have to destroy yourself to conform to anyone's idea of what you should be."

"I don't..."

"I miss you," she said. "I wish we could... still hang out the way we did before. I miss bringing mysteries to you first and you getting caught up in them and trying to restrain me but never letting me down when I needed someone to help. Bess and George still do, but it's not the same. And I did actually end up getting some help from this new kid at our school. Ned. He's—well, I thought he was a suspect once, but he turned out okay."

Frank frowned. "Do you only miss me because of the mysteries?"

"Of course not. I miss everything we used to do together. I miss you," she said, and he smiled a little, since he missed her, too, more than he wanted to admit. He didn't have a bad life here, not yet, not so that he could complain about, but he still found himself missing Nancy. Nothing else. Just her. "I kind of already said this, but I was thinking I could visit. Maybe on a school break? If you want me to, that is."

Frank almost laughed. "Why wouldn't I want that?"

* * *

"Do you miss it?"

Frank looked up with a frown, and Joe sat down on his brother's bed, not missing Frank's reaction to that. Sometimes Joe thought Frank got _more_ skittish once he got here versus where he'd been before. At the Drew house, he'd been almost adjusted, almost... fine and normal, if one could say those things about anyone. Sure, he had his moments, but those moments weren't like this, almost constant and every day. Frank had panic attacks all the time, and it worried Joe—not as much, maybe, as it worried his mom, but he was concerned.

Hell, he'd gotten into a fight with Chet over the whole thing because Chet had—and he wasn't wrong or evil or even being stupid—but he'd said something that panicked Frank and Joe wanted to take the guy's head off. His best friend.

Yeah, that was still a mess, since Chet was pretty upset about Joe taking the side of someone he barely knew—didn't matter that Frank was his brother; he'd been a stranger until a year ago—over a lifelong friend.

 _"What the hell, Joe? Did you really just hit me?" Chet asked, holding a hand up over his bleeding nose, his voice sounding strange._

 _"You upset Frank," Joe said, rubbing at his knuckles, still a bit shocked that he'd done that himself. He knew he'd fight for his brother, would have gladly hurt all of those men from all those trials, especially the one who called himself Frank's dad and messed things all up._

 _"I didn't mean to, and why would you do that—"_

 _"Frank doesn't deserve to be hurt again."_

 _"And I do? Joe, I am your friend. I have been your friend since we were too young to remember it. Now he comes along, and I'm the enemy? Since when? What did I ever do? I didn't—you know what, forget it. Just forget it."_

Joe grimaced again. He needed to try and talk to Chet again. He didn't want to leave that unsettled, but he'd come here first, again. Funny how Frank had that kind of pull, that his brother mattered more, how he might always matter more than anything, and Joe didn't understand it, but it felt right. This was who they were. They were brothers.

"Miss what?" Frank asked, and Joe had to think back to remember what he'd said.

"River Heights. Living with the Drews. All of that."

Frank shrugged. "It's not like I was really living there. I just... had some space and occupied it. I think that's all I've ever done. Occupied space for a while. I didn't really like what I did while occupying that space, but I was just... there. I wasn't living. Just existing. And not in any good way."

Joe looked at him, frowning. "You've never really... talked about it like this before."

Frank looked down at his hands. "I have... a lot of time to think here."

"Because you're always alone, holed up in your room and even though I try and drag you out of it like Nancy used to, it doesn't work. I'm just the brother. I'm not good enough for that."

Frank stared at him. "Is that what you think? Are you really making this into some kind of competition?"

"I didn't—"

"This isn't one. It's not about if you can help me more than Nancy. It's not about where I fit best—I don't fit anywhere. I didn't fit there, and I don't fit here. I haven't fit anywhere."

Joe shook his head. "You do. You just haven't seen it yet. You haven't let yourself. You were happy when you were with Nancy, and you've had moments here. I know you have. We've done great with cases. We've had a lot of fun. You really are the brother I always wanted—never thought I needed because I had Chet and it was good, but you're not Chet. I'm not going to say you're better—Chet is awesome and my friend and really great—but you fit into my life in a different way. You have to know that, right? You are a part of this family. We all need you and love you, okay?"

Frank grimaced. "I don't know. I still feel sometimes like... like it would have been so much easier if he'd just killed me. Even when things are good I don't... I don't know how to accept them, always waiting for that moment when he comes in laughing and I know it was all just another lie or a movie, scripted for everyone else but not me. I'm the one that always gets blindsided and hurt, and I'm tired of it. I can't... I don't want to believe in the good or that it will get better because it just hurts so much when I find out it's not real."

Joe winced. He wanted to do something, anything, that could change Frank's mind, make him see it wasn't going to hurt this time, but he wasn't sure he could. "I promise you. This is real. It really is."

And he pulled his brother close and held him as Frank started to cry.


	19. Old Friends and Old Pain

**Author's Note:** Someone had asked about George and Bess. It wasn't like I meant to leave them out of the future timeline completely, but they didn't have a place before with the past taking up most of the chapters. Since Frank was so determined not to talk to Joe, it worked to have him run into others, but it wasn't quite what I planned, either.

* * *

 **Old Friends and Old Pains**

"I am done here," Frank said, holding up a hand before anyone said anything else. He didn't care. He knew what they were going to try and argue, and he was not going to stand here for another minute of it. "No, don't. If you want to turn this case into something it's not and make me the focal point of it, you have more issues than I realized, but that doesn't mean that I have to stay here and listen to you go down this path of insanity. This is not about me. Not every case is about what they did to me in the past, and I refuse to make it that way. That's what I've been accused of more times than I want to count by shrinks and other idiots I work with or for, and I don't need it again. Not everything is about what I went through as a kid. If you choose to make this about that, you're doing it on your own."

"Frank—"

He didn't hear the rest of what Joe or Nancy might have said because he was out the door. He had no interest in dragging this out any longer than he had to, and he was not staying for this. He'd done enough humoring them already.

He walked down the hall and to the stairwell, needing to get out to fresh air so he could breathe again. Why didn't anyone ever jump to the conclusion that it was one of his father's cases? One of Joe's? They were just investigating the disappearance of a kid they learned was abducted by a pedophile. So why did it have to be about Frank? Maybe the idea was that they were supposed to get too distracted by the past to find the kid that guy was torturing.

It did not have to be all about him, and Frank was not going to buy into the theory that it was. Joe and Nancy seemed content to do that, so he'd let them. Let them chase that since it made them happy. He didn't need this, and he was not going to be dragged down into another nightmare of memories until he couldn't see anything but the past.

Dunn had tried. He'd gotten Frank close to that with the movies and the talk and touches, but Frank had fought him off, and he wouldn't lose that battle now because Joe was an overprotective paranoid idiot. This was not about Frank.

He pushed the door to the outside open, stepping into the air. A slight chill went over him, and he leaned against the wall, needing to clear his head. He should never have come back to River Heights. He'd sworn it off years ago, but now that he was here, he was about to lose everything.

His phone rang, and he jerked, yanking it out of his pocket and looking at the screen. He wouldn't have thought that Joe had figured out how to block his number—Frank hadn't shown him, and Joe usually didn't go past the basics with any technology, even when it was _cool_ that something did what he wanted or needed it to do or never thought it could.

Frank shook his head, shoving the phone back in his pocket. He needed to prove to Nancy, to Joe, to everyone that this was not about his past, and the best way to do that was to find the real killer. Once they saw it wasn't about him, Joe would go home and the others would back off.

Besides, he couldn't complain about finishing this case faster and getting the hell out of this town.

* * *

"That is the most amazing pair of shoes _ever."_

George gave her cousin a look, shaking her head. She did not understand what it was with Bess and shopping, never had, not from when they were kids to now, but Bess was always up for some kind of shopping, even if it was just drooling at a window as they passed by it. She didn't know why she'd agreed to go run errands with her cousin. This would have been easier if she was alone. She looked at her watch again and took hold of Bess' arm, pulling her away from the shop.

"We are going to be late, and you know we have a lot to do today."

Bess sighed. "Why is it we can't just enjoy our respective days off? It can't hurt to do a _little_ window shopping. I mean, look at those shoes. They remind me a lot of the ones that I ruined when Nancy dragged us into that mud pit looking for treasure."

"Those are heels. You did not wear heels into a swamp," George muttered, shaking her head. "They were just expensive tennis shoes."

"They were not. They were brand new, just like those. I know—they were _my_ shoes."

"You have so many that I doubt you even know which pair you lost last week, and this was years ago," George told her. She shook her head as Bess tried to protest again. "In fact, I bet if I asked, I could get someone to tell us exactly what color and brand and type they were—someone I know you won't argue with."

"Please. Not even Nancy paid that much attention to my shoes."

"They were Prada. Slip on, not really what I'd call tennis shoes, but then again, I don't know much about fashion. Can't say I thought much of the color, either, but you thought they were the most adorable pink ones ever, even when everyone else told you they were mauve or some other shade of purple I don't remember the name of now."

Bess turned around, her mouth open. "Frank Hardy? Is that really you? Holy crap, have you filled out and in a good way. Look at you. I mean, you could give some prize fighters a run for their money. And make sure you tell Joe I told you that you're looking better than him these days. Oooh, yes."

George elbowed her cousin, but Bess ignored her as she wrapped her arms around Frank, who seemed more uncomfortable and less amused by the minute. That kind of look was the one she'd seen on his father's face when they were discussing the creeps who hurt him—dark, angry, and a little scary.

"We didn't know you were in town," George said, trying to make this less awkward. "No one told us, or we'd have made plans or—"

"I'm here on a case. Not to socialize," Frank said, pushing Bess off him. "Crime scene is up half a block from here, so I need to go."

"I'm calling Nancy and we are making plans," Bess told him, digging her phone out of the bottom of her purse. She hit a button, making the call, her excitement causing her to miss the expression on Frank's face, which was not half as happy—even saying he was pleased would be a stretch.

George shook her head, letting her cousin drift off in her distraction, launching into one of her _why didn't you tell me_ speeches that was probably just as frustrating to Nancy on the other end as it was to Frank standing right here. George touched his arm. "She means well. She just... She wants to believe the best, so she—like Nancy—actually believed you when you said you were happy for her, that the whole Ned marriage thing was fine. That you were."

Frank rubbed a hand over his face. "It's not my place to stop her. If she loves him, then she deserves to be with him. It's what she wants, and that's what matters."

George almost winced. "Do not let Bess hear you say that."

"What?"

"Things are not all roses and flowers between Ned and Nancy—which you might know if you two did talk more these days—and if Bess thinks you're just holding back because you assume Nancy's happy, she'll be all over you again to make a declaration and sweep Nancy off her feet."

Frank snorted. "Like I would do that. I'm not that romantic, not sure I could be, and this isn't the story where I play the hero. Not even sure it's the one where I'm the good guy. I'm still not sure why I wasn't killed off in act one."

Times like this made George regret that they'd actually overcome their initial awkwardness around Frank and reached a point where he was willing to talk to them like they weren't just Nancy's friends but his own. She hated hearing him like this, but that was a part of who he was. She'd come to accept it, which she thought was something others hadn't done—they let him hide it or they just ignored it, and that didn't work for anyone, not really.

"I wouldn't be the only one to tell you I'm glad you weren't," George began, and he gave her a slight smile just before his phone rang. She let him answer it, since it was probably his work as Bess still had Nancy mid-lecture.

Frank lowered the phone, hand wrapped around it so tight George thought he wanted to break it. His skin had lost color, and she wasn't sure if he was reliving something or just sick enough to need the nearest trashcan.

"Frank?"

"I have to go," he whispered, and George didn't stop him.

* * *

 _Thirteen Years Earlier_

"This is a nice house," Nancy said, and Frank shrugged. She tried not to sigh. Things had been strained ever since she came, and from the way Joe kept looking at Frank, it hadn't been like this before her visit. She had thought Frank was starting to settle in at his house, and the trial period that was supposed to be a month or so was now over three. He was doing well in school, or so everyone said, but he didn't seem all that happy to see her, which worried her. Had he been lying all the time they were apart, trying to pretend things were okay when they weren't?

Why would he lie about it? She didn't understand—the Hardys were good people. They cared about him so much that it was hard to believe that Frank was unhappy here, but then again, she couldn't be sure what was going on in his head. He hadn't said much of anything to her, and she didn't understand that, either.

She'd been afraid that she'd lose him when he went with his family, but she'd thought they were fine when he called her every day. She'd thought they were still good, still friends. Now he seemed distant. Something was wrong, but she didn't know what it was.

"Are... you sure you're okay? You haven't really said anything all day, and I really had hoped that... We are still friends, aren't we?"

Frank looked at her, confused and hurt. "Why would you think we weren't?"

She bit her lip. "Well, you haven't seemed to want to do anything or to talk to me, not since I got here. I was hoping we'd have a good time, that it could be like it was before, but I don't know that you even want me here. I don't have to be, but I can—"

"I don't want you to go," Frank said, startled. He shook his head, looking at her and then over at Joe, who shook his head as well. Joe had actually greeted her with more warmth than Frank, and he did seem to be glad she was here. Frank, though, hadn't hardly even smiled. He'd just stood there when she hugged him. No, something was wrong, but maybe he didn't even know what he was doing. "I never said that. Why would you think it?"

"She's got a point," Joe told him. "You've been pretty out of it lately. Not that I blame you or anything, but it's the sort of thing that would give a girl a complex, seeing as how she came across the country to see you and you're so far away even when you're in the same room."

Frank winced. He rubbed a hand over his face. "I... I'm sorry. I didn't realize I was. I just..."

"Just what?" Nancy asked, frowning. She put a hand on his arm. "You know you can talk to me, right? Even if I'm here and not on the phone. I would have thought it would be easier. It did seem to be that way before, but maybe things really have changed since you moved."

Joe snorted. "Don't go that far. I'm still the same—still just as awesome as I was before—no, _more_ awesome than I was. Frank's about the same, maybe a little better. And you're prettier. Are you wearing makeup now? Or is that a natural blush?"

Frank leaned over and swatted his brother. "Knock it off. I don't know how you haven't pissed off every girl in Bayport with the way you go on, but leave Nancy alone."

Joe stuck his tongue out at him, and Frank rolled his eyes. Nancy just smiled, enjoying seeing them act like brothers. "You don't have to be the valiant defender of everyone's virtue. You know, there's even some girls out there that would like it if you did a little less defending and a little more taking advantage."

Nancy watched Frank, curious how he'd react to the idea of dating someone. He was still young, they all were, but Bess had already gone through quite a few boys, jumping from one romance to the next and still remaining friends with most of them after the initial crush wore off. George wasn't that interested in dating, though she'd had a few guys ask and accepted some at least one offer. Both of them were convinced that Ned was interested in Nancy, but she wasn't sure about him. He seemed nice enough—half the school thought he was Mr. Perfect—but that didn't mean he was perfect for her.

"You're wrong," Frank said. "No one's interested in me, and they won't be. I'm... They think I'm some kind of freak—or worse, if they know even half the story. It's not going to happen so quit trying to tell me I'm taking someone to prom this year. I'm not."

Joe rolled his eyes. "Stop assuming people think you're a freak. Genius, yes. Freak, no. Geek, yes. Dork, maybe, but freak? No."

Frank shook his head, and Nancy grimaced, not sure what would change his mind about that. Nancy wished he saw himself as half as worthy as they did, because it would more than double his self-esteem, but he had been so badly damaged by the man who "raised" him that he couldn't see his own value.

"What's really going on, then?"

Frank swallowed, looking like he might be sick. "I... They... They've scheduled another trial for him. I... I have to testify again."

"Oh, Frank," Nancy whispered, knowing how hard that would be for him.


	20. On the Edge

**Author's Note:** Well... It took about three weeks to write the opening scene of this chapter. I kept trying, plugging a few words in on it, and then finally it was done. Then it took like a week to get the second one started.

I'm not even sure how it's done now, but it is, I hope, and so... posting. Finally.

* * *

 **On the Edge**

"I get being crowded, and I get you insist on working through your issues on your own as much as possible, but I happen to like knowing where my agents are," Alexander said as soon as Frank allowed the call to connect. "You need to keep me informed, or I will have to hunt you down because it wasn't that long ago that you disappeared on me and I almost lost one of my best agents."

Frank leaned against the wall, looking at the crime scene, his mind full of thoughts he didn't know how to process. He didn't know how to shut this out of his head, how to function. The worst of it wasn't hearing the other voices—he always did—but his own. He'd heard himself on the other end of that phone call, and it unsettled him in ways that no other memory, no flashback, had done before.

"I need two things," he managed to say, though his voice sounded strange. "First, I need you to verify that Dunn is still in prison, that he didn't get out on bail. Then... I need you to trace the last call that came in to my phone."

"Frank—"

"Whoever it was played one of those tapes on the phone. I don't know if it was just the dialogue or what it was, not for sure. I just... I recognized my voice, pleading with them to stop," Frank told her, almost choking on his words again. He was going to puke again if he didn't get himself under control.

"Damn," Alexander said. "I'll do it, but you have to tell me where the hell you are. Right now."

"Ally—"

"I'm not kidding. I need to know where you are. If this is as bad as your brother thinks it is, then someone could be after you right now, and I cannot allow them to get you, is that clear?" Alexander asked. "Please tell me where you are so that I can be sure you are okay."

"I'm fine."

"I didn't ask if you were fine. I asked where you were."

"Working. I'm at the crime scene, and I'm fine. I am doing my job, and I refuse to let anyone keep me from it. This is not about my past. It is—fine. It's Dunn. He's screwing with me so I won't testify against him because he knows he's going down for a lot of crap including kidnapping a federal officer." Frank shook his head, closing his eyes. "If we get him on violating the agreement he had when he made bail, he can go back away and this ends."

"Are you sure about that? You've got no proof that this is just Dunn. We don't even know if he got bail—and we both thought it was almost guaranteed he wouldn't. I know you hate the idea of it being about your past, but that does not mean that it isn't."

"It can't be. There are alerts—I would have been told if any of them were out, any of the ones who are still alive. I haven't been notified. They are still behind bars. None of them are free to do this."

"Dunn was almost as much a part of this as any of them," Alexander reminded him. "You didn't know about him until recently, but he could not have been the only customer. For them to have held you for as long as they did, to make as many films as they did, they needed an audience. A market. This could be one of them."

"No."

Even as he said it, though, he knew it could be true.

* * *

"Bess, I really don't have time to talk right now. Especially not about weddings or anything related to them," Nancy said, trying to stall the conversation that she knew was coming. She'd known that there was no better choice for maid of honor/wedding planner than Bess Marvin, but that also meant that all Bess ever seemed to want to talk about was the wedding. "And with Ned—I don't even know that there will be a wedding. I can tell he's not happy about me getting hurt again, and I get the feeling he wants me to give up being a cop, but he won't _say_ he wants me to quit. He says he wants me to be happy, but he's miserable and—"

"Why didn't you tell me that Frank was here?" Bess demanded, and Nancy was almost relieved that she'd missed everything Nancy just said. She didn't want another lecture on fixing things with her and Ned—or anything to suggest that Frank was the solution to her problem because he was clearly _not_ interested, not even in friendship. "We have got to do something while he's here. Dinner. No, a party. We haven't had one in ages since you keep putting off your bridal shower and—"

"A party is a bad idea, and no, I am not having a bridal shower. It's not a good time," Nancy said, knowing just how much Frank would hate it if Bess tried to spring a party on him. He hadn't enjoyed them even as a kid, since that many people made him panic and become convinced he was about to be forced into another sick movie.

"It doesn't have to be big," Bess said. "It's just been so long since any of us has seen him—and wow, he has filled out very nicely—and we should do something to mark the occasion."

"Bess, no. If you've seen Frank, then you already know that he is not in the mood for anything like this. He's got a difficult case, and so do I—"

"But there's all sorts of—"

"Nancy, it's George. Look, I don't know that you know where Frank is or where he's going, but I think you'd better find him and probably fast."

Nancy swallowed, looking over at Joe, who was still watching her even if he couldn't hear all of the conversation. "Why? What happened?"

"He got a call. It seemed to shake him. He got pale, and he left in a hurry. I think it was bad, whatever it was. I haven't seen him that shaken since... well, since he had to testify the second time. He was a wreck then, and he didn't look that far from it just a minute ago."

Nancy grimaced, looking over to see Alexander on her phone. "We'll take care of it, George. I promise. Joe's with me, and we're with Frank's boss, so we'll handle it."

"All right. I'll let you go. And I'll talk Bess out of this party idea. I think I just have to use one word."

"No?"

George laughed. "Almost. I was going to say 'Joe.'"

* * *

Between Twelve and Thirteen Years Earlier

"How is he?"

Joe grimaced. "He locked himself in the bathroom again, and I think he's puking. Again. I don't think he's kept anything down all week. He looks sick. Bad sick."

Nancy sighed. "He does know he doesn't actually have to testify in front of an open court this time, right? They said they'd let him tape his testimony—"

"Yeah, right. You know how he feels about being filmed for any reason. He freaks out and does the screaming and running and hiding thing. Or he gets angry and he fights, thinking we're all going to hurt him. The guys still haven't forgiven me for that party, even though I swear I tried to warn them about everything that could go wrong with that idea. It was the one thing I didn't think about—the guys wanting to document the big occasion. If I'd just realized—"

"It's not your fault," Nancy told him. She put a hand on Joe's arm. She'd actually been in Bayport for that, which had been both good and bad because she'd been able to help with the fallout, but at the same time, it was so hard to see Frank back there. She swore it was like his first nights after the hospital, where he'd ended up wrapped in a ball next to her sobbing his way through it. "It was so sweet of them to try and include him, and I am glad they did. I just wish... I wish we didn't have to think of all these things, prepare for every little trigger, because your brother did not deserve any of this. No one does, but Frank is such a sweetheart..."

Joe nodded, leaning his head against the wall. "I just feel so helpless. None of us can reach him right now. He doesn't want the shrink. He doesn't want our parents. He doesn't want me. He doesn't even want you. And it shouldn't be this bad because he's already over the worst of it and this time he'll get that guy locked up for good, make himself safe. Only he's worse than the first time he went up on the stand—with everyone in the courtroom."

"I think he may be worried about what happens if this trial goes wrong again," Nancy said. Admittedly, it scared her, too, the possibility of a second mistrial or some kind of jury tampering. If this guy got away, they would lose Frank. She couldn't accept that.

"That guy is not going free." Joe looked back at the bathroom. "Frank, if he gets off, we're just going to have to kill him. We know that. No one's going to let him get to you. We'll do whatever it takes to stop him."

"Joe," Nancy said, elbowing him. She moved closer to the door. "No one is planning on killing anyone because this man is going away the right way. You will make that happen. You've already stopped so many monsters and made sure they got locked away for the rest of their lives. He is just one more."

"Go away," Frank said from inside the door, and Nancy swallowed, turning over to Joe with a frown. She had to be wrong about this. She wanted to be, but if she wasn't, she'd never forgive herself if she didn't do something.

"Joe, we have to break down the door. Now."


End file.
